


Workaholic

by simply_gorgeous



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Apologies, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel's parenting is still trash, Marinette works for Gabriel, Some Humor, Somehow, adrien doesn't know, author struggles with tags, hopefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simply_gorgeous/pseuds/simply_gorgeous
Summary: In which Marinette's plans to avoid Adrien are thwarted by an unassuming enemy: the elevator.No. No, she would not do this again. She was an adult now, and her identity did not rest in the opinion of a past flame she had forced herself to let go. She could do this.Tucking her hair behind an ear, she successfully made eye contact and smiled despite the light blush she hadn't quite gotten under control."It's good to see you, Adrien."
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 87
Kudos: 340





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is a multi-chapter, but don't worry; it will be updated every week and will definitly be finished. I know what it feels like to get into a story only for it to be abandoned half way through. Even if it's not one of my favorites, it's still annoying. I will never do that so long as I can help it!
> 
> Last but not least, this work was beta'd by the lovely GalaxyWanderer.  
> Thank you so much, Galaxy; you're the best!

Some would call her a workaholic.

Her parents would worry she was over-exerting herself and ask if they should speak with her boss. Tikki was constantly reminding her of how many hours she spent at work each day. Alya would probably take matters into her own hands and hold her hostage on a week-long vacation in Hawaii if it was known that she was spending her birthday vacation days where she spent every other day: at work.

Marinette blew a particularly pesky strand of hair out of her face for the nth time in the last five minutes thoroughly annoyed that her bun had failed to keep it from being an obstruction. There were moments she missed the convenience of shoulder-length now that she had grown her hair out to her waist. It fell right back into her field of vision, and she huffed and glared until she almost forgot where her focus needed to be. 

After tying a knot in the last of the buttons she had temporarily stitched into her latest project, Marinette straightened and winced at the tiny pops her back made in protest.

"Beautiful," she breathed, admiring her work.

Yes, some may call her crazy, but work wasn't work when you loved what you did.

Her work space was filled with cheerful sunlight streaming in through floor-to-ceiling glass windows which illuminated piles of silk and glinted off of sparkling gem-set dresses. Piles of fabrics stacked on shelves were neatly organized by color and texture and painted the walls in rainbows of pastels, jewel tones, and every shade in between. Tables and counters set at angles contrasted with the order of the shelves being strewn with sewing supplies, sketches, pencils, and threads.

Often was the occurrence that the scissors would go missing only to be at last discovered beneath scraps of fabric or tucked inside her open lunchbox—an absentminded habit she had yet to conquer. Many a time, Marinette would misplace her tape measure and find it hanging from her Chat Noir and Ladybug themed calendar. Poor Tikki would often awaken from a nap to total darkness and have to phase through the hat that had landed on her after being haphazardly tossed across the room. The hapless kwami had been given and accepted many apologies from her chosen, but it would only be a few days before the incident repeated itself.

One time, someone had entered the room, and Marinette had panicked, taking her little friend and shoving her inside an ankle boot she was redesigning. Many appeasement cookies were required after that episode. They had come up with a plan for unexpected visitors after that, but both Marinette and Tikki looked back enviously on the simpler days when the red, polka-dotted being could be hidden easily from classmates in a purse.

Eight years ago she had graduated high school. Along with her diploma she had left with an invitation to become the apprentice of Gabriel Agreste himself. She had been beyond ecstatic and had grown to love her new life more and more each day.

In her new life she had her own floor in the Agreste Tower right underneath Gabriel's private level. She had access to every kind of material she could want including the expensive silks and rare wools she could never have dreamt she would ever touch. She surrounded herself with beauty, inspiration, and homemade pastries from her parents' bakery.

Of course she loved going to work. It was like stepping into a dream.

She could come here to express, enjoy, escape, and wrap herself in a world of possibilities. She had once stayed so late working on a new design that she had dozed off. The security guard watching the cameras was less than pleased, and she received a message from her boss the next day requesting she review the late hours and closing procedures. As well as a bonus in her next paycheck.

With that thought in mind, Marinette grabbed her purse and keys and alerted Tikki she was leaving. The adorable creature phased out of the knot of threads she had somehow gotten tangled in—something about how it always worked for Plagg, whoever that was—and tucked herself into Marinette's purse with an embarrassed blush.

Marinette shook her head and made her way to the elevator. She inserted her key, called the elevator, and turned the lock so that her floor would be inaccessible to anyone without a key. This place had complex security that had taken time to understand and memorize. Unfortunately, talented designs often invited the risk of ideas being stolen. Because of that, Gabriel had a private elevator installed which could only be entered by certain personnel and was the only elevator to reach the top three floors.

The tower was divided into three sections. The first several floors were for modeling; their proximity to the ground making it easier to bring equipment and supplies in and out. The next group of floors were dubbed the "designer's domain." On these floors, the designs Marinette and Gabriel created were transferred from the page to the mannequin. And while she sometimes wished she could be part of the buzz and bustle that was the fuel and energy of the company, Marinette had sadly discovered that many of Gabriel's employees were so wrapped up in their own worlds of competition and deadlines they made each day seem like a fight for survival.

The three highest floors were smaller and Gabriel's private areas. He used the very top floor personally, she had been given the one below, and the third...well, the third was the private work space for the most eligible bachelor in France who also happened to be Gabriel's top model. And his only son. _And_ her former classmate. A minor detail, naturally.

Those highest three floors were accessible only by authorized personnel because Gabriel was nothing if not excessively fabulous.

As Marinette leaned backwards to pick a piece of fuzz off of the back of her left heel, she fumbled and hit the wrong button—a button nowhere near the one that would take her to the lobby. The elevator, of course, was oblivious to the mistake, dinging happily as it smoothly began the descent to the floor below while Marinette poised her finger above the "close doors" button and cursed the clumsiness she hadn't quite outgrown.

After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the elevator stopped at the next level and opened its doors, still dinging joyfully all the way.

Marinette jammed her finger into the "close doors" button with rapid repetition as she glared at the still glowing three-star button as if it was responsible for pushing itself.

"Wait!" Called a voice. “Hold the door!"

Blowing air up at her bangs in annoyance, Marinette did as she was asked. This was precisely what she had been dreading. All these years she had worked under Gabriel Agreste to the best of her ability, and all these years the only thing into which she had poured into more effort than work was avoiding the son of her employer, the young man who now entered the confined space of the elevator, the one and only, Adrien Agreste.

Marinette ducked her head and slid over to make room for the tall, blonde and handsome man. One of his hands reached up to run through his hair and she wished she hadn't been peeking up at him through her bangs just then because it simply wasn't fair.

He had always been attractive. Now...well, suffice it to say there was a reason he was the most sought-after model in the business. His body was utter perfection in her eyes; an opinion that was shared by practically the whole world. Tall with corded muscle tone and a solid six pack—thank you, summer swimwear line—and deep green eyes that reminded her of a partner from practically another life who still haunted her dreams.

His face, perhaps, was the most changed. He had gone from looking cute and sweet to mature and, well, she was just going to admit it to herself, sexy. His smile could dazzle anyone into saying whatever he wanted, but his smirk took away the ability to speak at all. He had always been clean-shaven, but Marinette glimpsed a five o'clock shadow darkening his jaw as well as her thoughts.

She had come to a decision when offered to work beneath Mr. Agreste; she would give up on her silly infatuation for his son. At one time she had even considered it love, and she still laughed at that notion to this day.

She had been getting older, he had been too, and Marinette ended up struggling to keep a certain silly kitty out of her heart. She didn't think it was fair to Chat Noir who, as far as she knew, had stayed as loyal as his claim to love Ladybug would suggest. It just didn't feel right to brush off his feelings in favor of someone who was doing the same thing to her.

So when her precious Chat slipped out of her life as softly as he had entered it, she promptly shut Adrien out of her heart as well. She couldn't help seeing him on posters and billboards, at fashion shows, and in magazines. But being with him being in an elevator at four-thirty in the afternoon on a day when everyone else had gone home at noon was strictly against her resolution.

His voice was a contrast of rich and light and snapped her out of her reverie.

"Thanks for holding the elevator, Mademoiselle..." he paused expectantly for a name.

_He doesn't remember me?!_

Marinette's shocked face shot up to stare at him in horror, brain frozen and making no attempt to respond. Adrien, however, looked equally taken aback, green eyes blinking rapidly and mouth opening and closing with surprise.

How, just _how_ could someone make shocked look so good?

"Ma-Marinette?" He gasped, eyes lighting with recognition, "Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

"Uh-huh-yeah, of course, I mean, yes," she stuttered, mentally slapping her forehead. Unlike her residual clumsiness, she had completely outgrown the panicky stuttering that plagued her throughout school especially where Adrien was concerned. Up until this point, apparently.

Marinette slumped against the elevator wall behind her, slightly sitting on the railing.

"Sorry for not answering you earlier. I thought you had forgotten who I was. Not-not that I think of you as a forgetful person or anything," hands waving around in front of her and blood pressure almost certainly above the recommended rate.

 _No._ No, she would not do this again. She was an adult now, and she was an independent person whose identity did not rest in the opinion of a past flame she had forced herself to let go. She could do this.

Tucking her hair behind an ear, she successfully made eye contact and smiled despite the light blush she hadn't quite gotten under control.

"It's good to see you, Adrien."

Indeed, it was good to see him. He was quite the sight. Black skinny jeans that weren't too tight, she hated when guys wore pants that made their legs look like toothpicks, a plain white button down, and blonde hair tousled in such a way to make it look like he had just gotten out of bed.

She gulped.

"It's good to see you too," he smiled cheerfully, eyes bright and friendly, and entirely unaware of his effect on her. "Really good. I knew you worked for a fashion designer since Nino mentioned it when we last talked, but I had no idea it was my father! Really, Marinette, you should have said something."

She chuckled nervously and finally caved under the pressure of his gaze casting her eyes to the side instead.

"Well, I...wait, no. It's your father. How could you not know?"

"My father...I'm...we're not exactly what you'd call close."

_What, still?_

He tilted his head up to look at the ceiling and bounced on the balls of his feet betraying his discomfort. Ordinarily, she would apologize for upsetting someone, not to mention an attractive and kind someone, not to _even_ mention him. But Marinette's mind was reeling with the new enlightenment that despite Adrien being more than everything a father could want or ask for in a son, he had not gained favor in his father's eyes.

She cringed at the thought of what a burden that must be on his shoulders and how much hurt he must carry on a daily basis. She regretted bringing his father into the conversation in the first place.

"I...I see. Um," she scampered to find something else to say, "Did you really not know it was me in the elevator?"

He turned to her then, and the heat beneath his eyes caught her off guard and set her stomach ablaze.

And her cheeks, unfortunately.

"You had your head down. I couldn't see your eyes, just your lips and your...figure."

He scratched the back of his neck as she concentrated on very cold thoughts to try to contain her rapidly spreading blush.

_Let's see, there was that one time with Glaciator, or that other akumatized villain, Frozer, or...wow, there were a lot of akumas over the years._

"I wouldn't say it except for the fact that we used to know each other well, and it's true, but...you have a very nice figure Marinette. You were hiding beneath your bangs, and I wasn't exactly trying to find your eyes." A muttered curse found her ears. "I feel like it should be less awkward saying that since you've always been cute, but it's..."

He let out a breath, and she could hear the frustration in it as he totally abandoned the effort to redeem himself.

"Can I just pin the blame on that beautifully designed dress you're wearing?"

She burst out laughing, thoroughly amused that for _once_ he was the one embarrassed and not communicating his thoughts correctly, and for once _she_ could laugh and enjoy it.

_Oh, how the tables have turned._

He laughed along with her as the atmosphere lost the stifling uncertainty of whether one would offend the other.

"Do you realize we haven't gone anywhere?" She giggled breathily, trying to contain the bubbles of laughter welling up as she thought of how he would react to what she had recently discovered.

"What do you mean?" He asked, head cocked in a way that reminded her very much of a cat. A certain cat...

"The elevator." She waved to the closed doors in front of them and tore her mind away from the treacherous trail down which it had threatened to go. "We haven't moved since you got on."

He nodded thoughtfully and leaned across her to call the elevator to the main floor.

"You're right. Marinette..." he inquired, distracted, "how is it that we haven't bumped into each other before? I mean, it's been what? Eight years?"

"More like six and a half" She corrected, sheepishly trying to take the conversation elsewhere, "I didn't start here right after high school because I was helping my parents run the bakery while they found a location to open a second store. Then I worked from my home for a while. Maybe more like five and a half. You can't count vacations and off seasons."

To her surprise, he rolled his eyes and fixed her with a look much like the one her mother used back in high school whenever she claimed Adrien was just another friend like all the rest.

"Marinette, we're in _fashion._ There is no such thing as an off season. And my father's idea of vacation is taking a show or premiere to a country outside of France. Which," he mused, "is actually a lot more work."

She watched the numbers above the door get smaller and smaller and prayed they would get down to one before he got suspicious. She didn't want to have to mention the fact that she had intentionally avoided him to the point and purpose of starving out a crush on him.

"Wait a minute."

_Oh no! It's too soon! Just a few more levels—_

"I thought my father did mention something to Nathalie about it being his protégé's day off. Assuming that's you, why are you here?"

Her heart jumped into her throat.

Gabriel considered her his protégé?

She knew he liked her work, and they communicated at least once a week, but mostly Mr. Agreste let her work on her own, and it was easy to feel forgotten in the busy and ever-changing world of fashion.

"Oh, uh, yeah! It is my day off, but I couldn't think of a better way to spend my birthday. It's the middle of the week, and I already spent the weekend with my parents, so it feels like it should be just a normal day." She shrugged. She had stopped paying attention to the numbers, but the doors sang out a note as they opened to let their passengers leave.

"Hang on, _today's_ your birthday?" He asked, tone incredulous.

"Yeah..."

And before she could die of mortification for having the lamest birthday plans ever—none—she stepped forward to exit the elevator and hopefully forget this whole encounter ever happened.

She gasped as her upper arm was grasped firmly by a warm hand, and she was dragged back into the metal box to face Adrien whose expression suggested he couldn't quite get his head around what was going on.

"It's your birthday, and you couldn't find anything better to do than go to work like any other day?"

She didn't really understand why the boy whose first birthday party was arranged by a friend on his behalf who had been akumatized because he had never been allowed to have one was so interested in hers.

"I love my work."

"That's great, but it's not a way to celebrate," he countered.

She contemplated. Now that he was being insistent, it did seem strange that although she was happy with her life it was the first birthday she had ever spent alone.

"...I guess. Oh well, too late now."

His hand on her arm dropped as they realized he was still holding onto her and the elevator doors had closed again.

"Not too late for a birthday wish, m'lady," he smirked with a wink.

Normally, his smirk would have sent her head to cloud nine, but it was instead reeling in shock. M'lady. A wink. The last person to wink at her like that had been...

He continued on, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

"If you could have something, anything at all, what would it be?"

Marinette stared at him, suddenly overcome with a wave of deja vu followed by longing.

Her face turned pensive, and for all he had changed physically, Adrien was just as caring and sweet as he was back when life had been simpler in some ways, more complex in others, but purer in all the ways she yearned for now.

"What is it?" He touched her elbow softly, and she realized she had moved to lean against the wall again. She hugged herself and shrugged before replying.

"Something you just said reminded me of someone I used to know long ago. I miss him very much. I guess if I could have one wish."

She ended the phrase as a sentence, unsure of herself. She was quickly losing her bearings, getting lost in a sea of memories she thought had dried up four years ago.

_Chat_

"What happened?"

His smooth tenor reached her through the haze, and her ears attempted to discern what her unseeing eyes did not. He sounded...slightly jealous? Protective?

She did not know. Nor did she care as she struggled to resurface and shake herself into reality.

"Oh, I guess life just...brought us together and then tore us apart," she shrugged in way of answer. "It just happened."

She blinked, and her eyes worked again.

His brow had creased and he crossed his arms leaning himself against the wall opposite her. She was beginning to feel the effects of being in close quarters with him as the familiar tug of that indelible first love pulled lightly at her heart again.

"That's pretty vague. If this person was so important to you that you'd spend your birthday wishing to see him again then there must be an actual reason you don't see him anymore. Of course, you don't have to answer that. I don't mean to pry."

She shook her head. Keeping secrets was no way to let go. She was going to say goodbye. She _had_ said goodbye.

"No, no, I don't think you're prying, and I don't mind you knowing who it is. It's just..." She trailed off, biting her thumbnail.

"Just?"

"It's kind of embarrassing, and to be honest I don't even expect you to believe me."

He raised a brow.

"My friend..." She colored slightly, self-conscious. Intriguingly enough, Adrien seemed to relax a little at the words. "My friend was Chat Noir."

Silence.

She had anticipated him to think she was joking or maybe give her that disbelieving, deadpan stare again. She hadn't exactly expected him to laugh at or mock her, but she definitely wasn't prepared for this silence.

And the man burying his head in his hands was not on her list of potential reactions, either.

"I know, I know," she rushed to defend, "It's crazy right? But sometimes he would drop by my room at night. There was an opening to the roof above my bed that he used, and the nights spent with him...they blew my world away."

She sighed.

It took one instant for her eyes to fly open, and she squeaked involuntarily, slamming her hands over her mouth.

"Oh my shoes, I just realized what that sounded like, oh heavens, I can't, we didn't, not at _all_ like, this is so embarrassing—"

She was going to have a heart attack. She was.

"Marinette, calm down, it's okay. I didn't take it like that," he reassured, standing in front of her once again, probably to ensure she didn't collapse at his feet. And of course she believed him, but the blush on his cheeks told her where his thoughts were _now_ — _oops_ —so just let her die now, please.

Marinette's capacity for talking was in no way beyond unintelligible squeals at the moment, so she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing and left the option for conversation up to the man in front of her.

"It sounds like you were good friends," he said gently, after a little while.

"Yes," she replied, voice still a bit squeaky, "He was my best friend in some ways. He understood me in ways even Alya didn't—couldn't—not to say she wasn't—she just didn't know some things about...anyway. It didn't start out that way." She rotated her hand around the circular, gold elevator railing absentmindedly and counted the number of glass bubbles set into the ceiling. "We had met each other a couple of times because of akuma attacks, but one night he just showed up for no reason. We talked for hours, and it became a weekly ritual; talking over croissants," she giggled. "That's actually what brought him the first time. He said he'd been tempted by the smells coming from my bedroom window one time too many. Poor kitty."

Marinette flushed and closed her eyes when the pet name slipped past her lips accidentally. "Obviously, when Hawk Moth was defeated," He hadn't been, actually. His kwami had lost its power in the middle of a transformation and had managed to escape during Hawk Moth's surprise. The kwami, Nooroo, had sought out Master Fu before falling into a suspended sleeping state. Master Fu had explained that this was the result of the kwami's power being used for evil—something for which it was not intended. "Chat Noir and Ladybug just kind of faded away...back to their own lives I guess. He never came by anymore, and I..." Marinette's own voice faded off as her breath faltered.

Adrien's face held concern, but his eyes spoke of soft curiosity.

"You were hurt? He hurt you?"

"Yes. No! I mean, no." She was rambling again, in an elevator with a childhood friend and crush she hadn't seen in four years discussing the loss of someone she, as a civilian, should never have known in the first place. What was going on? "Chat Noir did nothing wrong. I was hurt, but because of a mistaken mindset that was all my own fault. I didn't think much about the future changing. I didn't think about what would happen if he..." Her eyes pooled with the liquid she couldn't hold back anymore, and she tilted her head up blinking rapidly trying to will it away. "If he never came back."

Her whisper filled the small, silent space.

"I miss him."

There was an awkward pause. He seemed kind of jittery, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and Marinette didn't feel like celebrating anymore.

After the pause had been drawn out for longer than either of them were comfortable, Adrien spoke up.

"I, um, thank you for sharing that with me, Marinette. I think I'd better get going. See you around."

He pressed the button to open the doors, and with that, Marinette realized what a fool she'd been letting herself get swept back in time.

The doors opened with a tone she could harmonize to by now, and Adrien stepped out.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks Adrien. I'm glad I ran into you." Her voice was normal, but she sniffed anyway to rid herself of any lingering effects of her little episode. They're being polite, but both of them obviously wanted to be somewhere else. "Se—see you at, around."

But probably not actually, as she would do everything in her power to not see him _anywhere_ after this encounter. She'd take the stairs all the way up every day if she had to. Did this building even have stairs? It had to right? Weren't there like a million rules and regulations about fire hazards?

"Oh, and Marinette," Adrien called. She lifted her eyes to see him turned back toward her, hands in pockets. There was a meaningful spark in his eye, and a noticeable absence of the strange melancholy air that had been surrounding him replaced by something like quiet determination.

Odd.

"Happy birthday."

She somehow managed a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed my mind. I'm not going to wait a whole week between updates, and we'll see how this goes.
> 
> My heavens, guys! THANK YOU for all the love on this story! I so appreciate the kudos, and comments are just the best thing ever!
> 
> Once again, a huge thank you to GalaxyWanderer for her wonderful help. 
> 
> Now on to the story...

Later that night while in her apartment making waffle batter, Marinette thought about the strange turn of events the day had taken. She had broken her resolution to stay away from Adrien, that much was true, but it forced her to confront the fact that she was over neither him nor Chat Noir. Every time she had insisted to Tikki that she no longer thought about her past flames she was really only lying to herself. And the day's earlier conversation had stirred in her a loneliness she hadn't been aware existed until it spread through her like a fog at the first remembrance of her long lost partner. She recalled Adrien's reaction to her confession of wishing to see Chat Noir again and poured the flour into the bowl.

While she couldn't expect to predict him, his behavior was peculiar for being told his former classmate missed spending time with a superhero. His face had fallen, not in confusion or pity, but in empathy and almost regret. Marinette wondered whether she had stirred up memories of his own or if he was merely trying to console her.

She shook her head and plugged in the waffle maker. Men. You never could tell what was going on in their heads. And when you did know, most of the time you wished you didn't. Regardless, she did appreciate Adrien's consideration, he had always been the sweetest guy she knew, and he had obviously made a conscious effort to make her birthday a happy one.

Three minutes later, she was happily creating a growing tower of waffles, occasionally snagging a triangular piece and popping it in her mouth before pouring more batter. Even if she didn't have Adrien anymore, and Chat Noir was a phantom of the past, more legend than reality, kept alive in media, memorials, and a national holiday, even if Alya was in Germany covering the biggest criminal trial of the year, and even if she had seen hardly a soul all day, Marinette was happy.

She loved her job.

She loved her life.

She loved waffles.

Especially with ice cream, and especially at night. Waffles at midnight were her guilty pleasure, and Marinette hummed in enjoyment as she sat on her kitchen counter and ate an ice cream-covered, syrup-drizzled, tower of fluffy goodness.

She tilted her head suddenly, thinking she heard a noise. Her eyes rummaged over the ample living space highlighted in black, reds, and gold. 

Gabriel Agreste had been very generous when she started working for him, going as far as to give her one of the luxurious apartments he owned and used to house foreign models and high-end guests either involved with or attending his fashion shows.

Nothing was out of place—her oaken furniture angled just so, the heavy drapes across the wide, glass window hanging naturally, the art on her walls straight and untouched. 

She must have been mistaken. 

_There it is again._

Perplexed, Marinette hopped off the counter and followed the sound out of her kitchen, through her living room, and into her bedroom. From there she could distinguish tapping at the sliding-glass door that led to her balcony. 

She approached the drawn curtains cautiously before her heart stopped dead in her chest as she realized the sliding glass door was unlocked.

Fear coursed through her, and her mind raced with back-up plans in case someone was really out there. She knew that if all else failed, she had Tikki, but she hadn't transformed in years, and she had no intention of revealing her secret identity now. She reminded herself that she was still Ladybug and took a steadying breath.

The soft rapping had stopped, and she calculated the chances of it being caused by the wind or a stray cat. Neither were very high, but she slowly pulled back the curtain and peered through the exposed sliver of glass. And dropped it immediately.

Marinette stood at the end of her bedroom, hands at her sides, blinking rapidly while her brain faltered like a broken record. She jumped violently when the tapping resumed and tripped sideways into her vanity. Things went crashing to the floor as Marinette landed haphazardly across a stool specifically meant for sitting, not laying.

The edge of the curtain started moving with the night breeze, and she knew the door had been slid open. She knew it was too late to consider hallucinations as an explanation for the person she had seen crouched on the railing, and she lay staring at the pink silk that separated her from her balcony, apprehension mounting steadily.

_The door was opened. Why isn't anything happening?_

"Marinette?"

Dead silence.

"I heard a crash. Are you alright?"

Marinette stumbled into a standing position and approached the curtain. She stopped a hair's breadth away, the soft fabric barely brushing her nose with every sigh of the wind. She raised trembling fingers to clasp at the silk next to her head.

"Chat?" She whispered.

Clawed fingertips gently slid over hers through the curtain guiding her fingers open and pressing his palm against her own.

"Princess."

A tear fell down her cheek at the wave of nostalgia brought on by the old nickname. She had the urge to jump for joy and celebrate on the rooftops. She felt her knees turn to jelly and threaten to give out. She wanted to throw her arms around him and say how good it was to see him again. By heaven, she was scared to see him again.

"I came by to wish you a happy birthday. May I come in?"

Her mind whirled with thoughts the way Hawk Moth's lair swarmed with butterflies. So many emotions were rushing toward her at once. She had to remind herself that she was meeting him as Marinette, not Ladybug, so she'd have to be careful with what she said. She tripped over her own thoughts as she struggled to reply through utter disbelief.

_He's here._

"Chat Noir."

She knew she must be confusing him, shoot, she was confusing herself with her only answer being his name. She removed her hand from his, grasping instead the edge of the curtain and sliding it forcefully to the side. The soft _whoosh_ it made masked the sound of the air being sucked from her lungs as she saw him.

Tall. Taller than she remembered. Handsome. His features attracted her in a way completely foreign to her. Leather. His suit had changed slightly, black leather detail accentuating his broad shoulders and well-defined muscles making him look older. Alluring. She bit her lip and dragged her eyes up to meet his.

Sapphire met emerald with a shock of electricity that traveled through both at contact.

Then she was in his arms, and not because she had thrown herself at him in a rush of exuberance, but because he had gathered her into an embrace that told her he too had felt the effects of years spent apart. She could hear the steady, if slightly faster than normal, beating of his heart and breathed in the scent of him—one she had forgotten she knew.

The cool breeze kissed her shoulders, and she pressed herself further into him—was she crying, was _he_ crying—nuzzling her head under his chin. He responded by squeezing her gently, and heavens, he was more muscular than she remembered. She wanted to freeze time and savor this feeling he had elicited in her, whatever it was. Her heart was fluttering but content, and she felt...she felt...home.

He was home.

"Kitty, you're back," she sighed, when his arms at length dropped from her to rest at his sides.

"I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Marinette," he replied, rubbing his upper arm uncomfortably. "And to apologize."

Marinette was unsure how to feel about that. She had no expectations of him after the absence, but neither could she rule out any possibilities. His expression was sincere and slightly pained, and he kept rubbing his left arm. His apprehension bled into her, so she motioned for him to step into her bedroom.

She heaved a breath and encouraged, "Let's get comfortable, then. I imagine this could turn out to be a long discussion, and the temperature is only going to drop. I just cleaned my apartment last weekend anyway, so if there's a good time for me to have company; this is it."

He moved past her and into the living room to recline on her couch. She shook her head at his pose; it was distinctly cat-like but held an air of seduction—the kind you would see on the cover of a magazine. After closing her sliding glass door and locking it this time, Marinette stood in the doorway between her bedroom and the living room considering her guest.

She noticed that his powers seemed to have affected his costume; his tail ticked back and forth ever so slightly in a rhythmic pattern all on its own, and from this distance it appeared more circular than a normal belt would. His ears too had changed, they kept track of her movements by following any sound she made in a way that left her unconvinced he was doing it on purpose.

"Your instincts seem to have improved. Is it the suit?" she inquired, padding across the hardwood floor to her kitchen. "Do you want waffles?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she perceived him cocking his head to the side in confusion. She pinned him with a glare that communicated he was not to make fun of her, and his eyebrows rose in pure amusement.

"My night vision is so good sometimes I forget it is night. Quite detrimental at times, actually. One time I pulled an accidental all-nighter and was absolutely worthless at work the next day. Yes, and some milk too if you have it, please. May I inquire as to your choice of midnight snack food?"

She shrugged into her fridge.

"I just like them." Her milk was two days away from expiring. He'd live. "Ever irresponsible, I see."

"Irresponsible?" He chuckled. "You mean ever unlucky. Sometimes it's a wonder my tail's still intact."

"A notion I often had myself. Here."

She handed a glass and a plate to Chat who took them from her with a nod. It was so easy to slip into this banter and pretend that four years never passed.

Pretend he hadn't come to apologize for kwami knows what.

Pretend she still hadn't told him she was Ladybug even though he deserved to have known long ago.

She sat down next to him and pulled her legs up to curl to the side leaving a few feet between them.

"So."

"So."

"Don't tell me you've turned into a scaredy cat."

"Now _meow_ could you think that of me?"

There was an unwelcome weight behind the pun, he seemed less accusatory and more hurt. But before Marinette could lose her nerve and change the conversation herself, the man on her couch was resting his dishes on her coffee table and pinning her with a stare. He wasn't one to be willingly serious, and Marinette felt exposed and unprepared wishing desperately for her spots at this moment.

"I'm sorry I left, Marinette. I never meant to walk out on you or cause you pain. Everything was so…strange. I discovered things I...maybe wish I hadn’t."

Her eyes widened. Shocked, a memory of Adrien's air of resolution flashed through her head, and she knew.

Adrien knew Chat Noir.

Adrien had _told_ Chat Noir.

"I, I, I,” She had never stuttered in Chat’s presence before. She didn’t know what she wanted to say. How she should feel. “What kind of things?”

“Do you know Ladybug?”

“What? What does that have to do with anything? You can’t answer a question with a question!”

His face was stony.

“And yet I just did. Do you ever find it odd that she just disappeared? No goodbye to the public, no acknowledgment that Paris was safe for good, no speech of goodwill and dismissal? Can you guess what she said to _me_ as a goodbye? After years of being partners?”

Nothing. She’d said nothing. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She was a coward.

“Well, you disappeared too.” She tugged on her sleeve and then looked up with wide eyes. “What _did_ she tell you?”

He shrugged and looked away from her. She wished she could see his face, but did she really want to know how he was feeling?

“I guess it doesn’t really matter if you don’t already know. I’d hoped..." He paused and glanced sideways at her. "Did you know you’ve changed?”

She got the feeling he didn’t mean that as a compliment. 

“I think maybe you should just go.”

“Maybe I should.”

His eyes bored into hers, still raging with fire. 

“Just remember it was you who sent me away this time.”

Her retort was every bit as icy as his was heated. 

“And you tell Agreste that gossip is one thing that doesn’t look good on him.”

She rose, taking his dishes to the sink, probably both the lamest and most childish way she had ended an argument in years. Then again, she hadn’t really had that many arguments in recent years. She didn’t have the opportunities to have arguments anymore. 

The fringes of a shadow disappeared before she was certain she hadn’t imagined it. 

Gone already. Alone again. 

The anger that had seized her every muscle disintegrated quicker than she wanted; her emotional reserves were not strong enough yet for an onslaught of regret. 

Her body relaxed the way a leaky balloon deflates, and she knew sleep would not be sweet tonight. Tomorrow was going to be banal and insipid, blander than unsalted bread. 

She sighed and headed to bed. 

Off to the side, on the kitchen counter, her tower of waffles sagged on their plate—forgotten to stale much akin to her spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to try something. Would you, dear readers, be kind enough to leave in the comment section your favorite line(s) from this chapter (or chapter 1)? I'd love to know the parts at which you went "yes, now that's good writing," or " _that_ made the story enjoyable."
> 
> If nothing struck your fancy, don't worry about it. No praise is better than false praise. 
> 
> Thanks! See y'all in a couple of days for the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! Thanks for joining for another chapter. This one is short; therefore, the next chapter will go up tomorrow.
> 
> Kudos to GalaxyWanderer the Great! :P

The headache that greeted Marinette the next morning was an incessant annoyance even waffles could not banish and lasted all the way to work where it abated briefly before returning with a vengeance at the sight of the elevator.

She scanned the lobby, and, upon finding no trace of a certain blonde, entered the fateful metal container. Once safely inside, Marinette sank against the wall, the railing jutting uncomfortably into her spine. With a sigh, she replayed the previous night’s conversation, heels of her hands rubbing at her eyes. In the mirrored walls, she could tell the makeup had failed to completely conceal the puffiness, and pink reached way too high to be mistaken as eyeshadow. She felt exhausted and weak and just about ready to go home.

It was three minutes after eight.

The first hour was sluggish but not entirely unproductive. Amid sullen contemplation and irritating indecision about whether she regretted the way she had handled Chat Noir, Marinette managed to attach the buttons more permanently to yesterday’s project and begin creating a duplicate with different proportions. 

She was halfway through the second shoulder seam and considering hand-stitching the disobedient silk sash that crossed the front of the design when a ping resounded through the room.

“Madame Natalie?” she called, unwilling to get up to greet her boss’ assistant while the folds were _finally_ and painstakingly falling neatly under the machine’s needle. 

Hopefully Natalie only had something to drop off which didn’t require her immediate attention. 

“I believe that would be ‘Monsieur Agreste’ to you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng.”

The voice was mere inches from her ear, warm breath fanning over her cheek. Marinette snapped her head to the side and came face-to-face with Adrien who was looking down at her with searching eyes.

The fact she was an adult and far from her lycée days had no impact on the odds of Marinette melting at the model’s proximity, and she was saved from doing so only by the strange unfriendliness in his expression.

_Snaps,_ there went the perfect fold of silk. 

“I hope your birthday turned out well,” he commented, eyes still hunting for something, darting between hers suspiciously. 

“Yes, and then no,” Marinette sighed, wrestling between the impulse to pinch the bridge of her nose and the desire to strangle him outright. She settled for locking the needle’s foot down to keep the fabric in place. Her efforts were fruitless, silk falling far from the intended fold, but as it was already a lost cause, she ignored it in favor of facing the handsome features that were paramount to the Agreste bloodline.

“Adrien, I...I appreciate? Yes. I appreciate your words to me yesterday. Thank you for listening to the personal problems I just got lost in. But next time somebody tells you private information, consider keeping it private.”

His face hardened, and his mouth opened, but she soldiered on.

“You can’t—shouldn’t try to fix other people’s personal issues without being asked. Especially when neither party has much to do with you personally. No—don’t cut me off. Some things can’t be just fixed.”

Adrien closed his lips at that, face falling into a crumpled expression so painful Marinette had to remind herself she was the hurt one.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything to y—shouldn’t have said anything. You were right though. I had only good intentions.”

She exhaled.

“I can’t be mad at you, Adrien. I would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed. Even if it’s not the best idea. It’s the hero in us, I guess.”

She smiled up at him. 

“The part of Ladybug and Chat Noir that lives in all of us. We keep them alive even though they don’t…aren’t really around anymore. It’s not your fault things went poorly. Had they turned out differently, I probably would have thanked you for talking to him.”

Adrien cocked his head to the side. 

“You are a very forgiving person, Marinette.”

She blushed and dropped her chin, courage waning with the absence of anger-induced adrenaline. 

“ _Merci,_ ” she mumbled. “But I’m not always. Some things are really hard to forgive and even harder to let go. Some things,” she stressed, locking her gaze to his once again and willing him to understand, “can’t be fixed by a once and done makeup visit. Some wounds only heal after a period of time during which the offense is overshadowed by proven change.”

His eyes told her he _did,_ in fact, understand somehow, and suddenly the situation was too much for Marinette. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut and left it alone? Why did he need to know what she desperately wished Chat Noir would do? And it wasn’t as if he was the only one who owed an apology. She had pushed him away, stubbornly refusing to admit her identity to a partner who had earned the right to know. And then she’d sent him away...

She turned back to her sewing, noting how little light was coming in through the glass walls due to the rain clouds gathered overhead. The light on her machine was yellow, not white, and it affected her mood in a way she decided she didn’t care for.

She frowned. This day was going from bad to worse. 

“So, Marinette,” Adrien drawled, leaning backwards against her table on his elbows, “you really have no problem being isolated in this tower all day long, do you?” 

She heard something clunk down beside her machine but didn’t dare look his way.

_Stop it,_ she thought. _I can’t concentrate when you’re busting out your modelling poses while I’m defenseless like this!_

“I’m not...I don’t...no. I don’t mind,” she muttered, unable to explain to him either the constant companionship of her kwami or form a coherent sentence when his hair fell over his eyes like that.

_Hawkmoth take it, here we go again. I can’t stop being attracted to him._

He hummed absentmindedly, unaware of her inner turmoil, a piece of ribbon capturing his interest evidently more than conversation.

“Do you want to make yourself useful and give me the secret to sewing silk efficiently?”

“Betray an Agreste trade secret? Last week’s avian theme must have gotten to you; your brain is full of feathers.”

She thought she detected muffled chuckling, but his smile was solid in front of her, and _she_ certainly wasn’t laughing. 

“To which I recall you are allergic. Shall I introduce you to my duster until you tell me what I want to know?”

His teasing attitude was only encouraged by her reaction, and he turned toward her, leaning into her personal space, forehead only inches from hers. 

“Threatening bodily harm on your employer’s son is hardly the way to stay in the company’s good graces.” His eyes narrowed. “Or in the company at all.”

But she knew he wasn’t serious, and something like playfulness rose in her chest. Perhaps Ladybug wasn’t as distant as she thought. 

“In the unfortunate _and, might I add, extremely unlikely”_ —pointed stare— “event of unemployment, I shall find a way to resurrect Mr. Pigeon’s powers and assign an entire flock to pester you in punishment for denying me information.”

“I surrender, I surrender!” He jumped out of his position beside her and ran around the room, howling and jumping around, hands thrown into the air with wild abandon until he disappeared suddenly.

Marinette blinked. 

What. Just. Happened?

“A...Adrien?”

No response.

“Adrien, are you alright? Adrien. Seriously.”

When that failed, she panicked, the sense that something was deeply wrong spreading through her gut. She rushed past the table and across the room, rounding the corner of the ginormous, rib-high cutting desk on which she caught her waist. Searing pain shocked through her, but Marinette ignored it in favor of getting to the spot she had lost sight of him.

She found him balled up in a corner, waving an off-white scrap of fabric he must have found somewhere and looking up at her with solemn fear in his eyes as he said with a thick American accent, “You should know the French are averse to conflict.”

She rolled her eyes, hand not quite touching her chest, ready to either steady her racing heart or throttle him. 

It seemed to be a recurring urge around him. 

“May I have that back, please?”

He capitulated with a cheeky grin she swore she knew elsewhere and stood to his full height. 

“There’s a party for Agreste employees next Friday evening in the lobby. My father thought last month’s success deserved a celebration. Shall I R.S.V.P. you?”

“Is that why you came up here?”

“Um, yes? I could have sent Nathalie I suppose, but that poor woman gives a whole new meaning to the word ‘overworked,’ and the interns don’t have the key to the elevator.”

He fidgeted.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You mean to tell me the whole grilling about my birthday and subsequent me spilling my angsty feelings was an ostentatious waste of air because your sole purpose in coming up here was to invite me to a party?” 

“I don’t think ‘grilling’ is fair—”

“Listen, Adrien, I am beginning to think you skipped the company-wide required harassment video series. But don’t worry, you’ll become intimately familiar with the way it can be implemented.”

His creased brow melted into something far more mischievous, and a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he headed back to the elevator. 

“Takes a cheater to know a cheater. I’m willing to bet you skipped that series too, Marinette.”

“Only the reading,” she conceded, blowing hair out of her face. “Now get along with you so I can work. _Adieu.”_

That mysterious chortling rang again, and Marinette decided she needed to have a chat with Tikki about being less conspicuous while visitors were present…though it didn’t sound like Tikki’s high pitch.

Luckily, Adrien remained oblivious. He waved and did a little bow as the doors closed, and Marinette settled back into her seat feeling inspired at last and ready to fully concentrate on her designs when her eye caught on a small pink velvet box on her desk. She opened the lid to reveal a delicate gold filigree necklace. Hanging from it was a gold and rose gold layered lotus flower studded with the tiniest diamonds that upon closer inspection was actually a peony. 

She flung her eyes to the empty elevator in a stupor, _“au revoir, Princess”_ ringing in her ears too vaguely to know if she had fabricated them. 

Glancing back at the jewelry in her hand that had to have cost more than a year’s worth of rent, she noticed there was a folded note on the inside of the lid. 

Between the slender fingers holding it up to the light she read, 

_Happy birthday, Marinette. I am sorry this is late. The meanings of the peony are many, and I believe you will in time embody them all. But for today, I choose to educe the trait of bashfulness. I know you used to be embarrassed of how often you blushed. But yesterday in the elevator you blushed, and I’m pretty sure a real peony would have turned green with envy at how pretty you looked. May your life be filled with ever more joy._

_Votre ami dévoué,_  
_Adrien_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are seriously the best. I can't thank you enough for all the comments. They really help prune my writing. Keep 'em coming!
> 
> I know there are a lot of loose ends in the story right now; a lot of seeming plot holes and unexplained bits and things that are simply, "but why?"
> 
> They'll be filled in, explained, and answered; hang in there!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter four! Next update will be Saturday or Sunday. 
> 
> Thanks for all the love and support!

_Chat Noir, why didn’t you come sooner before I lost my nerve?_

Marinette sighed into the pile of fabrics her face was currently buried in. 

Red or blue, red or blue? Red or blue? Or maybe green?

“Tikki, I’m going to need you to share some of those with me.”

Her kwami looked up at her from a plate of cookies on a table across the room. 

“Stress-eating is avoidance and not conducive to solving the problem. What is the problem? I can choose the color for you.”

“No, Tikki, it’s not that. Just thinking about Chat Noir. I shouldn’t have let it end like that. We both deserve better than a childish argument to show for years of friendship. Blue with a green weave?” 

Tikki zipped over to Marinette and landed softly on her shoulder. She pet her holder’s ear soothingly the way she used to do whenever the stresses of chasing akumas addled Marinette’s mind and left her unable to sleep. 

“I should have searched him out after Hawkmoth; should have said goodbye. Said thank you. It would have been the right thing to do.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You thought you were doing the right thing.”

“No; I didn’t know _what_ the right thing was. I mean, I was the new guardian, and I hardly knew what that meant! The idea of Master Fu transforming superfluously seemed a bit of an idiosyncrasy, so you and I agreed not to transform anymore. And I do not intend to beat myself up about past decisions. I just…” She bit the tip of her thumb before wailing, “Oh, Tikki! I just have regrets. My precious kitty…I waited for him to come see me— _Marinette_.”

Marinette threw her head back and groaned. 

“And it was _not_ fair for me to be expecting something from someone who knew nothing about that expectation, but, _kwami,_ Tikki! Was it fair of _him_ to just disappear without saying goodbye? I get that Ladybug was more important to him than Marinette, but he didn’t even—”

_Ding!_

Tikki giggled as the dark-haired young woman muttered something under her breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Marinette groused.

“No, no. It sounded an awful lot like you said, ‘I’m going to have to disable the stupid thing.’ Don’t you like visitors?”

She gave a cheeky grin to which she received an annoyed, “Shouldn’t you be hiding?”

Luckily, the pair had been around the corner at the time, and Marinette rounded it to find Adrien Agreste leaning against the now closed elevator doors, Tikki safely hidden away.

“Do you always talk to yourself up here? Maybe I should come by more often to help rebuff the onset of insanity.”

His lazy smile morphed into something of a smirk as his eyes dropped to her neck from which his present to her hung, and she furiously resisted the urge to finger it nervously.

“Hello to you too. Do you always greet your designers with insults?”

“Only the cute ones.”

Her face was burning, her face was on _fire._

“You, you, um. Think I’m…”

She took a step back—a reaction that only served to encourage the man who advanced with a roguish grin.

“But the part where I offered my company is exclusive. Don’t go advertising it. Only you.”

“Okay, now I _know_ you didn’t take the harrassment series.” 

“Why?” He was close now, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath fanning across her face. “Going to report me?” 

Marinette closed her eyes, took a breath to get her bearings, and whacked him across the chest. 

Solidly.

“Oh, come on, Marinette.” His face was all wide smile and bright eyes. “And here I was thinking we were friends.”

“What a travesty. Better luck with the other cute designers.”

“Hmm,” he said, relinquishing her personal space. “It was worth a shot.”

“A shot for what?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

“Pardon?”

“Are you wearing lipstick?”

“Again; pardon?”

“Forget it.” His eyes did something she wasn’t familiar with, but it made her stomach flip. “So, Mari, how do you fare up in your dungeon of light and solitude?”

“Uh.”

She glanced around, smoothing her hands down her pants, adequately discombobulated. She settled for silence since he didn’t seem to expect an answer and watched him inspect her shelves as if he hadn’t just seen them yesterday. 

He moved on to a door, opened it, and disappeared inside. 

“Wow! Marinette—”

Everything after her name was muffled and unintelligible, so she followed him. He was acting like a little kid, and she hummed contentedly, smiling at the thought.

His head popped back out, adorned with an item she hadn’t seen in months. 

“This was...this was a great, a great, _achoo!_ Pardon.” She laughed outright as he rubbed his pinkened nose. “You still have the bowler hat from lycée?” 

“It’s a copy; your father kept the original.”

“And you had to use a real feather on this?”

She grinned slyly. “What can I say, I was attached.”

“Where did all of these come from?”

“Most of them are my first creations. I hold onto them for sentimental benefit. All of my favorite designs are kept in this closet.”

He lit up like a Christmas tree, bouncing on his heels in a way she noted was quite unprofessional, rummaging through her clothes. 

“We should have a mini fashion show! I’m sure I can find a way to wear some of these!”

Heavens, help her; he was adorable. When had Adrien had a chance to really live childhood? 

He would make such a great father. She could just make out two small voices chattering quietly in excitement. One belonging to a girl, and the other to a boy. Come to think of it… 

_Wait, no._ She shook her head. _Don’t let fantasy creep into reality. You’re not hearing voices; there’s no one in the closet right now._

“You go ahead, Adrien. I’m going to make a cup of tea.”

* * *

The moon was full and bright, and Marinette had become quite the stargazer since Ladybug’s last flight. Well, given she lived in the city of lights, there were relatively fewer stars to be found. And it wasn’t the stars at all that she watched for. But it was the thought that counted as Marinette sat on her patio’s barstool with a cup of cocoa and a crêpe. 

Because she did not wait for Chat Noir these nights. 

Back when Nooroo had been discovered and Marinette retired the Ladybug persona, she had paced through her room every day choosing words and practicing speeches with painstaking effort, alternating between wringing her hands in trepidation and biting her nails in exhilarated anticipation. And every night she had waited on her balcony wearing Ladybug themed accessories, counting the stars and measuring the face of the moon. 

There had been a plan. 

She was going to reveal herself to her beloved partner, and, depending on his reaction, confess that she had developed feelings of reciprocity for him. She didn’t know what would come of it—her heart still stuttered at the vestige of her blond classmate—but she was excited to figure it out with someone she trusted. 

But he never showed, and confusion shrouded her heart. Who did she love? Did she love two people at once? Did she even know what love was? Her solution was to forget both and move on. She threw herself into work and pretended not to notice life passing her by. Maybe she _had_ known she was lonely; maybe she had been in denial. Maybe her heart never let go of those it held. Maybe she should stop trying to fight it.

Marinette blinked up at the deep blue blanket of sky and pursed her lips in thought as she recalled the light-hearted moments she had shared with Adrien that day. 

He had popped out of that closet while she was stirring her cup of chamomile clad in a ridiculously assembled outfit consisting of the apron of her premiere waitress dress, earrings from that Reflekdoll incident, pale purple floppy hat, and Jagged Stone’s glasses. He strutted toward her, grinning like an idiot, pulling poses that were better suited to a tribal war dance than a catwalk. 

She was just relieved he hadn’t found the one thing in that closet she didn’t want him to know was her creation. She had made a copy of the blue scarf intended for Adrien’s birthday, and it was hanging on the back wall of that walk-in closet. 

Luckily he hadn’t discovered it. He left after picking up the mess he’d made in disconcerting silence, saying he needed to speak with his father. She had given him a cheerful, “Well, good luck!” but his answering smile was inundated with dreariness. 

Marinette shook her head. She was a woman now. A responsible adult who could make good decisions. 

Years had passed. How well could she claim to know her partner from former years? Chat Noir had started to creep into her heart, yes, but a person can change quite a bit in a few years’ time. Adrien certainly had. Adrien was different from his lycée days, so much more relaxed and confident, and she _liked it._ A lot. 

Maybe she should let go of the fear of falling for him. Maybe it was okay to see what could happen between former classmates. Maybe she could learn to say goodbye to Chat Noir. Maybe it was for the best.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. They get longer here on out. : )


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! *waves* Good to have you back for another leg of the story.  
> Here is the link to the dress Marinette wears in this chapter but with red silk covering the hole (because Mari's a classy woman) and sparkles around the hem. https://images.app.goo.gl/sVGHHCAdVjbgygtY8

Friday began in the most relaxing way possible; with a cup of tea. A languorous walk to work on a beautiful day admiring the iconically stupid tourists and softly cooing pigeons contributed to an overarching zen-like state of tranquility. 

Now, it would require an entire kettle before her blood pressure could pretend to be even slightly normal. 

In her defense, Gabriel was going to be rapturous about her latest piece; a Chinese-inspired, androgynous tunic-type piece that set her heart ablaze just thinking about it on Adrien...which was _not_ an appropriate thought to be having about her boss’s son. Or productive to either designing or making her dress for the party this evening. 

Which was the reason for the current crisis in the Marinette level of the tower and immediate need for tea.

“Tikki!” The young woman cried, rocketing from shelf of fabrics to table of designs and back again. “What am I going to do? It’s almost noon which gives me mere hours to will an entire dress into existence!”

“I _told_ you it would be black tie.”

“But it’s only for the staff!”

“It’s hosted by Gabriel Agreste.”

There was no argument for that point, so Marinette derogated to a different one. 

“On the one hand, _you_ could will a dress into existence, but you will _not._ Although I don’t know why.”

“Yes, you do, now focus on actually making a dress.”

Since the tiny god was not to be persuaded, the dark-haired woman resigned herself to her fate, and turned to her eighteenth birthday present; a mannequin with her measurements. She draped it in bolt after bolt before settling on a red silk. Was silk a pain to work with? Yes. Did Marinette have more experience with it than a clew of silkworms? Also yes. 

“Here we go,” she muttered to herself, laying the pattern down and hoping she would have more success with a dress than a sash. 

Two and a half hours later two things were apparent. Firstly, a gorgeous halter top had emerged and was making her mannequin, an inanimate object, look like a creature of style and finesse. Nextly, it was time for tea. Correction: it was _past_ time for tea. And because she had used the last pouch the day of Adrien’s mini fashion show, Marinette was forced to take a break, run home, brew a pot on her stove, and lose another hour.

By the time evening came, Marinette was hard at work hand-stitching last month’s unused embroidery overlay to the bodice which had already caused its fair share of headache. She hadn’t been able to decide between full or form-fitting and ended up with a mermaid that started higher up like a trumpet but retaining the dramatic silhouette. She felt rather silly about it now, but the time to change her mind was hours ago, and now she just wanted to be done with it. It wasn’t as if she had anyone to impress anyway. It was just coworkers with whom she had no real relationships, and although she had the option of bringing a plus one, Tikki would already be in her clutch and she wasn’t desperate enough to ask Fredrick from the florist’s. 

She had considered asking Adrien since she didn’t know for certain if he was planning to attend. He didn’t work for the company so much as he was the company. But in the end she couldn’t find the courage, and the timidity was likely to be blamed on her inability to look at the date as purely platonic.

While she worked on the finishing touches, namely engineering a way to get sparkles along the hem, Tikki braided her hair into an elaborate updo, leaving a few long strands to wisp around her face. 

“Well, if you won’t use your magical powers to save me hours of labor, at least you use your tiny fingers to save me a hairdressing fee. Thank you, Tikki,” Marinette remarked, biting on her fingernail before throwing subtlety to the wind and retrieving a roll of red, jeweled ribbon. 

She glanced at the clock and choked on her breath. 

_“Oh la vache!_ Tikki, where are my heels?”

And with that serene moment to begin the evening, Marinette headed toward her elevator in pursuit of sparkling punch and with every intention of leaving early if none was to be found. Tikki was hopeful for cookies, and because her hair was just so beautiful, Marinette promised at least fifteen minutes regardless of the presence of carbonated drink, twenty even, if there was at least _some_ alternative to water. Black tie or not, she was highly conscious of last week’s budget cuts. 

The elevator doors opened, and Marinette put one strappy heel in front of the other, eyes searching the room for someone she knew. Surprisingly, she couldn’t even locate the front desk clerk amongst the crowd—who had striking green hair. How many employees could one company have, anyway?

A waiter whizzed past her with a tray of champagne flutes which caused her eyebrows to shoot up. 

That was not low-budget. 

A cloud of laughter erupted from a cluster of people off to her left—photographers she thought. Abnormally well-dressed ones. With expensive jewelry. And footwear. Odd—who were standing near the end of a lavishly filled dessert table. 

That was not low-budget either. 

As she walked toward a tower of beautiful truffles, she spied a punch bowl whose contents sparkled as much as the glass that held it. She silently cheered as she stepped gingerly around a rather rotund man considering he worked in the fashion industry.

“Oh, excusez-moi, mademoiselle. I did not see you there.”

“Not to worry, no harm done.”

Well, so much for getting to the punch bowl smoothly. Apparently it was jostle or be jostled. She had nearly been thrown into a pyramid of fudge by the mayor’s doppelganger as he bent down to pick something up off the floor. Come to think of it, he sounded like the mayor too. Had Gabriel asked the mayor to make an appearance?

 _That_ was about the furthest thing from low-budget, and Marinette decided to find someone she knew and fast because she had the sinking feeling this was something other than the employee thank-you party she had been expecting. 

Suddenly, she caught an eyeful of blonde hair beyond the _president's son_ and could have cried in relief. 

“Adrien? Adrien!” 

He turned around, and she was lost in the sight of him. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to hit his designer for being someone other than her or kiss them for what they did with him. 

“Marinette, wow, hi. You look like an angel.”

“You look like sin.”

They stood there staring at one another before Marinette’s pupils blew wide and she slammed a hand across her mouth.

“Oh, please, oh please, oh please, please, _please_ tell me I did _not_ say that out loud. Or at all. Now that comment will make _me_ end up on a low-budget. Oh, no, I can’t do this. I’m going back upstairs.”

Adrien grabbed her arm and spun her back around, giving her a look that told her to think better of it, but answered her question before she could challenge him.

“Only if you want to be trapped in a small, enclosed space with me because you are the only thing I can foresee enjoying about this party, and if you leave, I’m following. And believe me,” his eyes traveled the length of her, “you probably don’t want to risk it.”

“Risk what?”

His gaze was heavy when it found hers before quickly flitting away.

“Sin.”  


“Um, I,” she coughed into her hand, mind distracted to no end with thoughts of her and Adrien… sinning.

Luckily, she was saved from further social blunder by Nathalie’s entrance. Adrien for his part wasn’t fairing much better, ears red and eyes stuttering around the room unable to focus on a singular thing. Nathalie was dressed in a floor-length, fitted dress with a daring neckline—much like her usual ensemble but longer skirt and nothing underneath the suit jacket. Marinette wondered if she and Gabriel had finally acknowledged their mutual attraction for the other.

“Good evening, Adrien. Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. I wonder whether either of you have seen the host this evening.”

No such luck if the furtive glancing around was any indication. Disappointing.

“No, not yet. I had expected Father to come with you.”

“And I thought, that is I was not aware, being as it is, or was,” Marinette shifted her weight from heel to heel, attempting to extract just what kind of a party this was and, if it wasn’t too much to ask, an apology for having been brought here under false pretenses. “What type of event is this?”

Nathalie raised a sharp eyebrow.

“The celebration of the thirty-sixth year of Agreste and press release of the dates of this year’s upcoming shows and lines.”

Her clipped, business tone did nothing to reassure Marinette who leaned over to hiss in Adrien’s ear.

“Deceiver.”

“I had no idea. Employee party was the memo put in my online calendar by my father.”

His cologne was heady and clouded her mind which explained why his front pocket seemed to move all on its own. He was making her lose her mind.

“I am not mentally prepared for the press!” Or anything, really, besides his hands in her hair, lips on her neck, _stop._

“I’ve learned to just roll with it. They’ll leave you alone if they think you don’t have any relevant information.”

“That’s your secret?”

“Yep.”

She inhaled through her nose and released through her lips. Was that a faint whiff of…camembert?

“Okay. Give it to me again.”

“Bore them.”

She gave a curt nod, eyes wandering over to Nathalie who had left as soon as she answered Marinette and was now speaking with the Prime Minister’s great-nephew. She wondered at the black-clad vision, so aloof and seemingly every bit as heartless as her unfortunate surname suggested. She knew Nathalie cared deeply for Gabriel which proved she was no coward with love, but the way she treated Adrien… as if she cared about him but would always defer to his father’s preference. She was stunting herself and her ability to love well.

Oh, scissors and stitches, here came the press.

“Monsieur Agreste, Monsieur Agreste!” A reporter gushed, practically tripping over herself in her haste.

Adrien smiled good-naturedly, and Marinette felt guilty. Here he was enduring something he took no pleasure in, and she was ready to abscond without supplying Tikki with any of the scrumptious-looking cookies she so deserved. But then something about the conversation between Adrien and the reporter caught her attention, and she refocused on them.

“What an absolutely breathtaking dress you’re wearing, mademoiselle. I don’t believe I recognize it. Could you perhaps be showcasing a sneak-peek of a future line?”

“Oh, no, I just didn’t have anything else in my closet that would work, and since I thought this was going to be…um—”

“What she means is that she is the designer of the dress, and it remains to be seen whether it will be made available to the public since this is its first time off the mannequin.” Adrien nodded thoughtfully. “Not much doubt what it will be though. Marinette is my father's favorite creator.”

Not for the first time that evening Marinette could have kissed him—even if he himself wasn’t following his earlier advice. The reporter’s face froze before her perfectly painted lips fell open.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng? _The_ Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” The reporter was aghast. Marinette was scared. “I would have brought my other notebook had I known I would get a chance for an interview with you! You’re quite an exclusive entity. Oh, my colleagues will be positively _green.”_

Okay, then.

Marinette sent a panicked glance to the Adonis beside her, and he reached for her hand in support.

She bit her lip.

He swallowed.

She wanted to jump with joy at the discovery that she wasn’t the only one affected by the touch, but the reporter kept going miles a minute.

“I do apologize, I assumed you were Adrien’s date.”

“Oh,” she laughed. “Nope. Just a coworker.”

“Why shouldn’t it be both?”

She blanched. But Adrien appeared unfazed and replied easily, chuckling.

“Right. Because dating your father’s business protégé is the picture of professionalism.”

“Ah. You don’t like to mix business and pleasure, do you?” The woman’s pen scribbled furiously on her notepad, what exactly about that sentence was so interesting lost on Marinette.

“You never know,” he winked. _Winked._ “I could have a secret girlfriend up in my tower, and no one would ever know.”

Marinette made a mental note to be on the lookout for such a one and to research quiet murder just in case she found her.

“A question for you, Marinette. Have you ever designed something for Adrien?”

“No.”

“No? Having worked in the same company for so long I would think you would be in a prime position to best express his essence.”

“My essence? I think you’ve been interviewing my choreographer, Luiz, too frequently. I’m just a man, same as any other.”

It was clear both women vehemently disagreed with that claim, but Marinette spoke up before a comment could be made.

“My newest project explores a few new and surprising concepts in fashion, and I was planning on asking for Adrien's assistance.”

“Eh? Is that so?”

Adrien’s face asked the same question, and for once, _once,_ Marinette was undaunted.

“I won’t reveal the theme, but it’s definitely more than just clothes. It has personality. And I think Adrien has the perfect skill set for this line. Think of it as a collaboration, if you will.”

“Adrien? How long has this been in the works?”

“About half a minute.”

The three laughed, and Marinette thought, eyelids squinting against the chandelier light, she could die a happy woman with Adrien’s laugh in her ears.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven. I look forward to seeing what the two of you create together. If you’ll excuse me. Pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. Monsieur Agreste.”

The reporter ran a hand down Adrien’s arm, flashing him a friendly smile that was juxtaposed with the lascivious gesture. Marinette hated the way the female population of the press, and some of the male too, were so brazenly flirtatious around Adrien. But who was she to let it bother her? She had been actively avoiding him up until two weeks ago. A pastime, she realized, from which she was eternally retired. He was too charming, too magnetic for his own good, and Marinette had been pulled irrevocably into his orbit.

Now was as good a time as any to visit the dessert table for Tikki. The sparkling punch was calling her name anyway, and Marinette needed to satisfy her growing thirst one way or the other.

Two hours later, Marinette slipped away, discovering that there was, in fact, a stairway that led to her floor—oh _boy,_ was there a stairway that went _all the way up_ to the top floor. Her heels were in her hands two flights in.

“Oh, Tikki!” She exhaled, sitting on her chaise that was absolutely used for work purposes and not napping, thank you very much, pulling a leg onto her lap to massage the aching calf. “I am so worn out! Does Gabriel not possess the ability to be upfront? All those people! The cameras! For Pete’s sake, the notebooks _desolated_ the reporters’ attempted air of subtlety.” 

Tikki just giggled, zooming around, enjoying being free from the confines of the clutch. 

“At least I don’t have to come up with an elaborate plan to get Adrien to agree to work with me on the Chat Noir line. Do you know what I could really go for right now?”

Marinette dug through her clutch for her house keys, finding a stow-away cookie and handing it to tiny outstretched arms in the process.

“Waffles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter in a couple of days, and it's a wild ride. ; )
> 
> And this is later than I meant for it to be; I'm sorry. For some reason, the formatting decided paragraph breaks were overrated and refused to work. I do not have the tolerance for colossal walls of text, and, at the possibility you guys feel the same, I spent about an hour wresting with the program. But victory is mine! Take that, stubborn formatter!
> 
> *giggles* Have a great day, guys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to GalaxyWanderer for all her insight.
> 
> If you're enjoying the story and haven't yet; drop kudos and let me know your favorite part. I love seeing the parts that stick out to each of you. 
> 
> Happy reading!

“Hold it!”

Marinette scrambled for the doors as a large hand slid into the divide barely escaping being flattened between the sheets of metal. 

“I have to say, this seems to be our vehicle of destiny,” Adrien said, gesturing to the elevator as he held the doors for a pinking Marinette. “I was on my way to your floor to see if you wanted to get an early start on that project you threw out of nowhere at me last weekend.”

Her dark hair was piled atop her head in a bun that couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted to be messy or neat. She had a satchel slung over her shoulder that housed a list of measurements, her notebook of ideas, and Tikki amongst other, less important paraphernalia. In short, she was looking as if she had haphazardly thrown herself together after sleeping past her alarm. Which is exactly what had happened. And Marinette had been prepared to ask Adrien if his schedule would allow him time to work with her today, but she was not ready for him to be so available. 

“Yes. Wow, I didn’t anticipate your morning to be free.”

Adrien just smiled mischievously.

The elevator began moving, and Marinette found her gaze locked on nothing as last night’s dream flashed through her head. 

Chat Noir had visited her again only this time they never made it into her living room. Marinette had never had a serious boyfriend before as she had been hopelessly obsessed as a teenager and too busy with work for a social life as an adult. But the feeling of Chat’s lips on hers made her toes curl in her shoes just thinking about it, imagined feeling though it was. And Chat’s hair was always in disarray, but last night he had looked positively sinful with those silky blonde strands wrapped around her fingers as she tugged him back to meet her mouth.

Snips and stitches, she needed to come back to reality. She needed to focus on her new line. She needed to concentrate on working with Adrien. She needed to respond to what he had just said.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

His eyes sparkled in the overhead light as he peered at her. 

“I’m really looking forward to working with someone so talented in an area I haven’t had much access to in recent years?”

“Oh. I guess I wasn’t quite all here a moment ago. I’m quite, quite excited to work with you as well.” _I’m quite_ frustrated _I’m having dreams about someone else when I’m falling for you!_ “Collaboration is new territory for me, so I expect it to be a bit of an adventure. But I promise my mind is not prone to wandering like that.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Mari. What’s on your mind?”

 _Chat Noir,_ her head screamed. _And how unlawfully sexy he is. Argh!_

“The theme for this line.” Which wasn’t actually a lie. “How accurate we can make the silhouette and how much it matters.”

Well. At least that’s what she was trying to think about. 

“Ah. You know, Mari, I’m actually the same build as Chat Noir.”

Not for the first time, gratefulness swelled in her for having of all kwamis the one of luck which must be responsible for this valid excuse to run her eyes over the length of his form. Multiple times. Enough that she caught his expression changing and wondered whether she had missed something. 

“I...suppose you are. Actually, you might be perfect!” She said, bouncing lightly onto the tips of her toes. 

She had worn flats today, so the distance between them was greater than it had been the last time they had met in this elevator. 

The doors opened, and Marinette was beaming. 

The sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows filling the whole room with warm light, the floor was swept of threads and scraps of fabric, and the custom mannequin order form was laying on the front table. 

“So, as you know, this is going to be a line of semi-formal attire as well as street clothes wear based off of Paris’ former hero, Chat Noir. Who you also know.”

Her pointed look had no effect on him, and she was treated to an impudent smile instead of chagrin and darting eyes. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny any rumors regarding my personal life while at my place of work.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Part of my charm.”

It occurred to her she had heard that line elsewhere. She didn’t dwell on the thought, however, because Adrien was making himself comfortable in her workspace, and it was arousing a bubbling excitement in her reminiscent of the feeling that made her want to design in the first place. 

“There are a lot of things we could start with, but in the highly likely event I decide I want to do an improv design, I’m going to need a mannequin, so let’s work on ordering that first.”

Adrien obediently began filling out the form while Marinette collected drawing pads and sketchbooks of different sizes and shapes from around the room. 

“It says measurements used must be accurate and taken no more than two days ago,” Adrien said, frowning up at her. “I only have a general idea of my measurements.”

“That’s fine, we’ll just take them now.”

And so Adrien stripped off his suit jacket leaving a white button-up. A white button-up that was loosely tucked into pants that accentuated his build. A white button-up with enough buttons undone to keep the golden skin around his collarbone cool while creating heat in anyone aware of the fact. A white button-up with sleeves he was rolling to reveal muscled forearms that flexed and stretched with his movements.

Marinette swallowed. This was going to be more difficult than lycée finals. Taking a therapeutic breath to steady her heart rate, Marinette silently chanted a mantra.

_Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan. At least you have a plan._

Her fingers wrapped the measuring tape around his forearm, tips of them brushing against the rivets and dips formed by muscle.

_I’m doomed._

Only so many measurements could be taken professionally in his current state of dress, but Marinette’s focus was on keeping her thoughts professional, to Hawk Moth with exact numbers. 

But then Adrien shifted, something like a twitch, and cocked his head to the side in a mannerism she _knew_ she had seen before. Many times…

“Do you want me to take my shirt off?” 

Silence. He continued.

“I know it would be better for the sake of accuracy, but if it makes you uncomfortable, forget it.”

“And you would be comfortable with that?”

He threw his head back in such pure, lighthearted amusement, she couldn’t help but laugh along with him. Even though she didn’t understand his mirth, it was infectious. 

“I’m a model. I’ve been shirtless in front of people nearly every week for the past decade or so.”

“Okay, sure.”

Adrien seemed to think the idea innocuous enough, but now Marinette had to deal with the reality of a man mere yards from her _taking off his shirt._ Maybe honoring Chat Noir, the personification of _bad luck,_ had been a self-fulfilling prophecy and evidence of the _infinitesimal_ amount of brain cells she possessed. 

_Holy hems,_ he was shredded.

Abs.

That’s what he was hiding under those pressed shirts and fashion sweaters of his? 

Marinette pulled her lips into a terse smile and continued measuring. She could do this. She was going to be dressing him in the near future. She would see him shirtless many times. _Gabriel Agreste_ was now “eagerly looking forward to the resulting line this surprising collaboration produced.”

Yep. Doomed. 

Once the measurements were taken, Adrien finished filling out the form while Marinette regarded him. 

The blond, still-shirtless man sitting in her office was a piece of luck every time he entered. Good luck or bad she had yet to determine. He was attractive to distraction, and talking to him at times proved to be a tedious business. Case and point: right this very moment. 

“You’ve changed, Adrien. Not, not that it’s a bad thing!” Oh, miraculous, have mercy. “It’s a good different. You are more… outgoing.”

“As opposed to?”

He didn’t seem offended, and his tone gave off an air of encouragement, as if he were trying to lead her to some predetermined conclusion. He flashed a perfect smile, raising a brow. 

“Well, in lycée you were…you were pretty…” she trailed off, looking out the windows as if the sunny city below could give her the words to say.

“I was pretty? Why, thank you, Marinette,” Adrien said, eyes laughing at her. “Kinda thought I had held onto my good looks. Oh well. Pride goeth before a fall, as they say.”

“Arg, no! I didn’t mean” —she pulled on the loose strands of hair around her shoulders before pointing a finger at him— “I mean subdued; you were pretty subdued! It’s like you do it on purpose! You _intentionally_ mess with me! You’re incorrigible!”

“Hey, now—“

“Insufferable!”

“I only—“

“Inveterate!”

He tilted his head to the side, _where had she seen that before,_ in confused amazement. 

“Where are you getting these words?”

“ _Why_ do I put up with you?”

“Because it’s better than the alternative.” He threw his shirt over his shoulders and began working on the buttons. “And I haven’t changed so much as I have just become comfortable with who I’ve always been.”

His words were par for course, but his eyes said, _think, Marinette think._

“Now tell me what else you have planned for the day before curiosity kills this cat.”

_Why was he being so strange?_

So very, very doomed.

* * *

Marinette’s bangs puffed out at her breath of frustration as she set the bowl of batter down on the counter to wash her cookie sheets before filling them. 

Not that the cookie sheets were dirty, per se, but she had found too many balls of black thread and fuzz masquerading as chocolate chips baked into her cookies to take any chances. At least with raisin cookies, you got the betrayal of no chocolate but a mouth full of fuzz instead just added insult to injury. 

While elbow-deep in suds, the over timer went off, beeping shrilling to let her know it was fully pre-heated, and Marinette jumped in fright. Her bun fell down somewhere between frantically rinsing her hands, dashing from the sink to the stove, and slipping on a fallen dish towel. 

Her sense of balance had been off since earlier that evening when she decided it might be fun to try to transform again. It had not been a pleasant experience. Her suit had changed, not much, but subtle things like thin plates of armour on her shoulders and thighs, and the design had matured too; the lines drew her eyes immediately to her waist and hips. 

But then the real changes had hit; her vision swam before focusing intermittently on objects with certain colors, there was a buzzing in her ears, and there was this itch somewhere within her that yearned and pleaded for her feet to leave the ground, for the wind to whip through her hair. She could only label it as an instinct to fly. And there seemed to have been a new sense altogether. 

In short, it was a terrifying eighty seconds, and she had dropped her transformation feeling overwhelmed and unprepared. 

And now she was laying on her kitchen floor cursing Chat Noir for rubbing off some of his curiosity onto her. If she hadn’t let intrigue lead her to try to transform, she wouldn’t have dropped Tikki straight to the floor and stepped on her accidentally, leading her to feel the need to make apology cookies.

It was at that exact moment when a tapping sound coming from her bedroom met her ears. 

“It’s unlocked!” She shouted, assuming his heightened senses could pick it up. 

It occurred to Marinette as she slid a filled cookie sheet into the oven that she may need to invest in better safety procedure; leaving entrances accessible to the general public practically begged intruders. 

The air in the room shifted, and beneath the smell of hot air and soap suds, there was a leathery cologne scent that Marinette welcomed. Adrien or not, Chat Noir would always have a special place in her heart. 

“Princess.”

“Hey, kitten.” She turned around with a warm smile, hands pulling her hair back up atop her head, but she froze at his physiognomy. 

His head hung from his place in the bedroom doorway, and his tail dragged limply on the floor. His ears were drooping, and his shoulders weren’t set right. Then she thought she heard a sniff, and a piece of her heart cracked open.

She practically teleported to her couch, holding out her arms, and calling him to her. He shifted, hesitating, before surging forward to collapse at her feet, wrapping his arms around her knees and clinging to her calves as he dissolved into sobs muted by her jeans.

Marinette sat in complete shock for a split second before threading her fingers through his hair, shifting through the golden locks gently murmuring soothing nothings, unintelligible to them both.

They sat there, lost in time, for several minutes, after which Chat collected himself and raised himself to sit beside her on the sofa, still not meeting her eyes. This was for the best, Marinette decided, because his sobs had eaten at her, and she didn’t think she was ready to see what was held in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping pathetically at his nose. “I’ve never broken down like that before, and I just, you feel like home to me, and…”

“Oh, kitty. Everyone needs to break down every once in a while.” She wasn’t sure whether she should go for the box of tissues or address the dullness of the gaze she was beginning to catch. “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

She reached out to brush the back of her knuckles against the side of his face, and he crumpled, falling forward into her lap, face pressed into her stomach, dissolving into sobs again. 

“Chaton? Kitty, wha—”

“My father.” His voice broke entirely into sobs again, and her chest panged in antiphon. “My father, nothing will ever be _good enough_ for him. I’ve given him all I have, everything I _am.”_

Marinette carded her fingers through his blonde locks, silently admiring its silkiness, so much akin to Adrien’s. 

“He told me today he was disappointed in me. _Disappointed._ As if I haven’t spent my whole life behind a camera for _him,_ posing for _him,_ practically not leading a normal _life_ all for trying to please him.”

There was a _man_ in her lap _trembling,_ and Marinette’s stomach was sick with the reality that a figure who ought to be his integral support tore him down to such depths. Then the room began to spin as his words echoed in her head. 

_As if I haven’t spent my whole life behind a camera…_

“What more can I do?” Those beautiful green eyes were haunted, anguished, pained. And familiar. “And a few days ago I found the blue scarf my father gave me for my birthday in your closet. Only when I asked about it, he said he couldn’t be expected to remember a trivial thing from years ago.”

_“My closet?”_

“So I hunted down Nathalie, thinking perhaps she’d remember it because it was the _one and only_ time I ever received anything other than that _lame pen,_ and she went from blank to vexed, and I knew. 

“He’s never cared for me. Not in any way that really matters. I mean, does he even know the term _demonstrational love?_ That’s something you taught me with the way you treated Chloe and Lila with kindness when we were in lycée together.”

_“We?”_

His ear twitched; something that used to indicate his amused annoyance. Who knew what it meant now. She shifted away from him, pressing her back against the armrest. Chat’s face was pink where not obscured by black leather, but his chin was leveled steadily.

“Marinette. You can’t possibly _not_ know who I am by now. If you don’t, you’re either _stupide_ or I’ve developed a personality complex.” He blinked at her. “I’ve been waiting to have this conversation for years. I didn’t think it would happen like this.”

The world stopped spinning abruptly, and her head took up the occupation in its place. 

“I don’t think it can happen like this.” The words tasted bitter coming out of her mouth. “Why would you reveal your identity to me?” 

It was just another lie like all the ones she had told her parents every time she disappeared during an akuma attack or was found missing from her bed at night while she was out on patrol back before they knew she was Ladybug. 

And she did _not_ want to be the one who held all his secrets just because he couldn’t have Ladybug. He had ditched Marinette all those years ago; she wasn’t now going to turn into his replacement because he had no other option. 

And then there was the fear. The paralyzingly icy fear that shocked through her veins at the prospect of telling him. When Hawk Moth had been forcibly retired, it had seemed right; she felt good about it. Safe. Because no matter how much time had passed, she was still Ladybug deep down, and the memories of Chat Blanc still filled her with dread. She would never know the exact events that had led to his destroying the world, but she knew the crux of it hung on their knowing each other’s identities. 

Maybe she was a control freak. Maybe it felt dangerous only because she hadn’t planned this ahead of time. Maybe she was making a mistake. But was it worth taking the risk?

So Marinette shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m just a normal citizen.”

The man in front of her choked a gasp, demeanor going slack in disbelief before sliding into accusation. 

“Last time we did this, I tried to be tactful. It didn’t go so well.” Almost all traces of crying had left his face as it became taut with anger. _No. This wasn’t supposed to happen again._ “I thought, ‘I’ll give her time’ even though I have been waiting and waiting for _years._ And now you’re going to lie straight to my face and claim you’re not Ladybug? _You said we were partners.”_

His normally handsome features were contorted with furious disappointment, and briefly, a flash of gratitude that Hawkmoth was no longer a danger swept through Marinette with a force almost as strong as the shock that he _knew._

Well. That changed things.

Marinette blinked, only to find the space next to her empty, and bolted up after him. She ended up bursting out onto her balcony, finding a black figure preparing to leap from the railing.

It _was_ a mistake. 

"Wait!" Her chest heaved up and down. "We have to stop doing this. You know as well as I do it’s easier to run but more destructive in the end. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what it would have been like if we had just faced the problem."

He whipped around hissing, tail shooting straight in the air. Her arms came up to protect her face, a movement born of muscle memory rather than conscious decision. In a split second his face relaxed, albeit minisculely, as he came back to himself. The only apology he offered was a barely-there shrug which left Marinette to wonder just how much his miraculous affected his instincts.

“Then face it. _I_ am not the one running away.”

She bit her lip, and his gaze followed, but his mien remained stony. The threat she would have regrets still loomed in the back of her mind, but the ache of _finally_ having only truth between them was stronger. If Adrien was Chat Noir, she was being offered everything she’d ever yearned for, and though she wished she wasn’t late, she wouldn’t make this mistake twice. 

"Yes, I'm Ladybug."

It hung in the air for long enough for her to feel tears on her own cheeks. She wanted to reach out to him, but reason stopped her. 

"Or at least I used to be. Before… everything. Chat Noir, I am so sorry. You were a friend and a partner and a constant companion, and I'm just a fool. I told myself it was better if we didn’t know, but I never should have left it at that. Pretending there was no miraculous after Hawk Moth should never have been a valid option in my mind. And Adrien?” She took a steadying breath. “I love you.”

He just stared, but a bubble of laughter escaped her through her tears. 

“I know it sounds crazy and abrupt and absurd, but it’s true. And you can hate me for the rest of your life if you want to, but Chat Noir, Adrien Agreste, I have always loved you.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Even if you don’t believe me.” He didn’t move, and Marinette pulled at her shirt sleeve. “Chat?”

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t Adrien. Maybe he had meant something else, and she was totally off, or—

“What do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know, just get down from there, and come inside.”

“I need…I’m going to go.”

She did not like the sound of that, not with the way he was so emotionally charged.

“I don’t think you should go back to the Agreste Mansion. Your father just hurt you. You could stay here,” she offered, cringing “Although I know I just hurt you.”

“I haven’t slept in the same building as my father in years. When he’s in town, I stay at the studio.”

Her heart throbbed at that, and he must have seen her hurt for him in her eyes because he turned away. 

“I need to process.”

“Okay.”

“I won’t be at work for a while.”

It was strange, talking about civilian life while he was wearing a mask. 

“When will I see you, then?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll find you. We can go from there. Either come to a final decision, or make a plan for going forward.”

What could she do but agree? So at her nod he left, vaulting into the layers of night with that silver staff she hadn’t seen but in her dreams. 

She stepped backwards, slid the door shut, and found the opening in the drawn curtain. Her room looked dark. The maroons and pinks were cloaked in shadow, inky darkness shrouding bed, vanity, and chaise. Her head was full, but her heart was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, don't panic; we've still got two more chapters ahead of us. 
> 
> I know usually the reveal is the happy ending in and of itself, but it just couldn't be for this story. There was way too much to be resolved in one conversation, and I felt like Marinette should have to face the consequences of her decisions. She's not always in the right even though she's the main character, and I wanted to show that. Adrien should have a right to react and disagree, but luckily, he's also really kind, so...there's fun to come! 
> 
> I am so thankful for you guys taking the time to read this story; it makes me so happy! : )


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few of you have given a lot of really good insight for the previous chapter. I have addressed *some* of it in the comments section, but sadly, some of it is just going to be left as learning experience for me. I do recommend skimming over the reply I wrote to one of the comments; it may help answer some of the questions you have swimming around in your heads. (Don’t worry, no spoilers.)
> 
> To those of you asking about conversations with Nathalie and/or Gabriel; while I would love to, I don’t feel comfortable adding more characters with so little left in the story. Trust me, it would present more questions than it could answer given time and space. If this were a longer piece, I would have; it’s a great next move. I did also address this in the comments section. 
> 
> All in all, this has been a great learning experience for me, I am so thankful to all of you who have contributed kudos and/or comments; you guys rock! I thrive on feedback.
> 
> Thank you, GalaxyWanderer, for all your hard work!
> 
> Well, we’ve only got one more after this; thanks again, and happy reading!

Life was strange these days at the Agreste Tower. The elevator was so empty.

It had been nine arduous days since the grand reveal.

At least, Marinette had thought it would be grand whenever she let herself daydream about what it would be like if she ever let down her guard. 

She had allowed herself to be too cautious. She had compensated for Chat’s recklessness, or, at least, that’s what she told herself before she could seriously question it. But she had let it grow too much for too long. 

She should have told him. Really, what harm could it do? 

“I thought you promised you wouldn’t belabor your past decisions.”

Marinette leveled her well-meaning kwami with a staid glare. 

“I’m not,” she said primly, not unlike a certain mayor’s daughter. “I’m simply belaboring my _present_ ones—do not roll your eyes at me!”

But her outburst ended with a smile.

“It’s four o’clock, Tikki; let’s call it a day.”

Said being perked up immediately and piped, “Sure thing!”

As Marinette watched the elevator doors close, her finger hesitated over the first-floor button. It hovered in mid-air long enough that Tikki was about to push it for her when there came a muttered, _“Laisse faire,_ he won’t know anyway,” and the three-star button was pressed with impetuosity. 

Marinette noticed her friend’s worried countenance, so she turned to her with a mischievous grin. 

“What? Haven’t you ever wondered what his floor looks like? Haven’t you ever wanted to see all the fancy photography equipment he no doubt has in there? Don’t even try it, because I am well aware of your penchant for taking pictures with objects so that it looks like they are floating in midair despite how surreptitious you think you are. Just because cameras can’t capture you doesn’t mean you should abuse that ability every chance you get. How old are you?”

Tikki’s current shade of red was previously unknown to the world of mankind.

The silver doors slid open to reveal… not at all what she had expected. 

Either Adrien had gotten a serious raise, Marinette mused as she stepped into the unknown area, or Gabriel was putting all his modelling eggs in one basket. It was like stepping into another planet.

The furthest wall appeared to be like three of hers; floor-to-ceiling glass. The others, however, were covered in some sort of tech that reminded her of the futuristic television shows she sometimes turned on at night when the apartment felt too quiet. There was a panel in the wall beside the elevator whose doors she checked to assure herself still existed, and if she had to guess, she would say it controlled the panels. 

Not that she would guess, mind you, unless she was being held at gunpoint. 

She had read about high-tech modelling innovations in an article somewhere. In an effort to get around the ever-changing natural light caused by the earth’s rotations limiting maximum shoot time, solar-charged “environment simulators” had been proposed. She had never heard of them being completed or released for commercial use. 

The space itself seemed to be sectioned off by tall, collapsible dividers. There was a roomy desk area situated to face a large, flatscreen mounted on what Marinette was choosing to dub the “elevator wall” for orientation’s sake. Wait, were there...there were multiple flatscreens, one of whose screens was glowing. It was a calendar/schedule freakishly reminiscent of the one she herself had made for Adrien back in the day, and it wasn’t the similarity that curled her fingers into fists at her side, but the disturbing realization that Gabriel still believed he could and should control his adult son’s life to the very minute. 

There were, in fact, fancy cameras everywhere, seemingly littered throughout the studio, although Marinette knew that notion was born from ignorance of the pattern used. 

When she reached the wall of glass beyond the strange spectacle draped in the shadows of the evening sun, she noticed a black leather couch. 

A black leather couch with gold studs. A black leather couch that seemed too worn to merit occasional mid-shoot rests in pressed suits and designer jeans. A black leather couch that had a fluffy blanket thrown haphazardly over its back and a compact pillow that did a poor job of masquerading as interior design.

_Oh, Adrien…_

Her stomach plummeted as she approached, dropping into a crouch. There was a patch where the leather had lost a majority of its color the way leather does when exposed to water or a like substance often. 

_Mon petit chaton._

She hadn’t known. What amount of strength would it take to endure the neglect of an only parent while remaining so cheerful and lively on the outside?

At that moment, a strand of hair blew past her ear to brush her cheek. 

Startled, Marinette straightened and looked up to find a panel slanted forward and a black cat crawling in with the breeze from what must be the outside of the building. 

“Chat?”

Her exclamation elicited just as much shock from him, but his reaction was more than the gasp hers had been. He lost his footing, slid off the glass into the room and fell face first. Marinette gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth, watching as he missed the couch but still managed to land on his feet. 

A cat indeed. 

He unfolded himself to his full height, and she blushed. 

The leather looked different in natural light, and while she knew they were on rocky ground, there hadn’t been a night of solid sleep since their last encounter, the nighttime did strange things to her brain. She’d had a lot of time to combine the two persons she now knew were one in the same, and it wasn’t as difficult as expected. 

Was it crazy that the outwardly perfect, model, son had a carefree, energetic, _normal_ side of him? Not at all, really. Was it ridiculous to imagine Chat’s loyalty and Adrien’s sweetness stemmed from the same kind spirit? No. In fact, more questions were answered than raised by the truth of his identity such as why Chat continued to transform. 

It wasn’t a childish refusal to let go of Ladybug, and it wasn’t for foolish and reckless excursions; it was an escape, same as she was realizing it always had been. 

“Well.” His hand went to rub at the back of his neck. “I was planning on showing up on your balcony tonight anyway.”

“You do realize I have a front door?”

He shrugged. “Cats don’t typically frequent human-favored paths.”

“Okay.”

She was just glad he didn’t question her presence on his floor after business hours.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?”

So much for that sentiment.

“If you’re asking if I missed you; yes, I did.”

His smirk did not go unnoticed, but she ignored it, unwilling to give him the satisfaction he was looking for. Chat was, however, currently exuding the very definition of “the cat who got the cream,” so she gave him her shoulder and sat on the couch.

The atmosphere shifted into something heavier, and he sighed in resignation, easing into a half-reclined position next to her. 

Marinette’s mouth opened almost without her permission.

“When Hawkmoth lost his kwami… why didn’t you visit Marinette? Did you just forget me in favor of Ladybug?” 

“That’s not fair.”

“Is it not? Do you remember how much you flirted with me? How do you think it felt to be forgotten? I was planning on confessing, you know.”

She had meant confessing to the feelings she had developed for her silly kitty. Said individual misinterpreted it, much to her surprise and relief. 

“So you _were_ going to tell me your identity.”

“Of course. But you never came.”

“Really?” His tone was dubious.

Marinette huffed, irritated at his obdurateness, “Yes! Where were you?”

“Looking for you.”

Marinette winced, the couch suddenly becoming far too small, the space between them inadequate to bear her discomfit. She wanted to leave.

_No._

There she was, letting her fear urge her into running away again. So she forced herself to look at him, something which, in hindsight, she should have known would be a failsafe shortcut to distraction because it took all of three seconds for her to get lost in him. 

He was lying perpendicular to her with his head resting on the armrest and knees propped up on the cushion several inches from her shoulder blade. His wrist was draped over his eyes, and he looked weary. Defeated. 

“But you never found me.” She sighed heavily. “I had no idea. I guess you did the same thing I did, then: gave up.”

“Oh, no; I found you, found Ladybug. I just couldn’t do anything about it.” 

_What?_

“Why not?”

His tone was clipped and cold when he replied, “Because I promised to respect your decision to not know each other’s identities. Just because I knew who you were didn’t change the fact that you didn’t want to know who I was. I finally decided to just forget it; move on since you obviously weren’t going to change your mind.”

Marinette turned away from him, resting her chin on her fist, and staring off into space. A cloud passed over the sun, and Marinette absentmindedly noted the dulling sharpness of the room and the slightly unnerving sight of grey glass-paneled walls.

“How did you find out?” she whispered, only daring to ask after minutes of strained silence had passed.

“You know the Miraculous’ affects change with age. Remember the derisive insult Hawk Moth made about how we couldn’t access our Miraculous’ full potential because we were children?” Adrien sat up and inspected his spherical tail. “He was right. I don’t know if you’re aware, but there are stories of cats finding their way home from long distances away.”

He paused long enough for Marinette to realize he’d finished. 

“So?”

“So you were my home. I roamed like a tomcat from rooftop to rooftop searching for Ladybug, and something led me to you, to Marinette. Repeatedly. Some scientists think cats may be able to sense the earth’s electromagnetic field, and maybe that’s what happened, but I have a different theory.

Just like electromagnetic waves loop from the north pole to the south, I believe there is a force between the powers of creation and destruction, between your Miraculous and mine. We couldn’t sense it before, but it’s there. I followed its pull, and every time I did, it led me straight to you. One of those nights I smelled a kwami, and I knew.”

Marinette threaded her fingers through her hair, unsure of how to process the new information. The words “you were my home” rang through her, but her focus was concentrated on the tense he had used. It made her stomach roll unpleasantly. Guilt was slowly creeping in, accusing her of causing her friend torment because she wouldn’t transform. 

A hand gripped her elbow suddenly and yanked her body to face him.

“What about you? Why was Chat Noir the only one looking for his partner?”

She reared back defensively. 

“I was the new guardian! I had to be responsible!” She tucked her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t know exactly what that meant, so I erred on the side of caution. I was confused when you never came back—hurt, maybe” —her eyes pleaded with him to understand— “maybe angry with you.”

“So why didn’t you come and find me? Call?” 

Well, he was definitely angry now, and Marinette was discovering first-hand the other side of the harangue. 

She eyed him dolefully. 

“I have always struggled with fear. I nearly didn’t become Ladybug because of it. You, Chat, were my courage. You supported me and faced situations head-on. Without you I crumbled beneath my fear.” The words were spilling from her lips faster than she could catch them. “I know it was small of me and frankly, wrong because it also affected you. But it was all I knew, and at the time I wasn’t mature enough to handle the situation the way I ought to have. It’s not much of an excuse. But it’s the only one I have, and, for better or worse; it’s the truth.”

“Okay…okay.” He nodded not in agreement, but acceptance. “You used the argument that I ignored Marinette in favor of Ladybug, so I’m just going to say it; why did you stop contacting Adrien? I mean, I get that life takes people in different directions and even friends lose contact, but life brought you to my father’s company! My place of employment! And you decided to actively avoid me for years? _Que diable,_ Marinette. In what world did _that_ look like a good idea?”

Her head hung. She had not often witnessed Chat’s anger, but being its recipient was a separate kind of pain; one she had known only once before in a circumstance lost in time, and one she wished she could forget. What she hated most was knowing his anger stemmed from hurt she had inflicted.

“…For what it’s worth,” She peered sideways at him, fighting to maintain eye contact. _“Je suis navrée, Adrien.”_ A pause. “You said you stayed away out of respect for my decision, but when you discovered I worked for your father, you immediately visited me as Chat.”

“Yes. And when I tried to breach the subject of Ladybug, you bristled, so I let it go.”

Marinette shook her head, not to be deterred.

“No, but then all the following encounters I had with Adrien had clues about your identity dropped into them. You said yourself it was impossible for me not to know by then. You went from not wanting me to know to pulling a one-eighty. What changed?”

“I fell in love with you.”

Marinette’s mouth fell open, and she was fairly certain her heart had stopped beating altogether. Of all the responses he could have given, this was not even on her radar.

“I was in love with Ladybug years ago. But when she abandoned me, I tried to let her go.” He chuckled casually, and Marinette wondered how he could treat the conversation with such cavalier. “Then you dropped right back into my life, and, _ça alors,_ Marinette, my plan never stood a chance after seeing you in that elevator.”

His gaze was like fire, and she was caught in its scorching heat.

“You have no idea how difficult that party was for me a few weeks ago. Seeing you in that dress…I wasn’t kidding about you not trusting me in a small, enclosed area.”

Marinette wasn’t sure if he was aware of his tail wrapping around her legging-clad calf, but by kwami, she was.

He leaned in and placed his forehead against hers.

“We both could have made better choices, and I forgive you for yours. I just wish we didn’t have to waste four years only to end up in the same place we would have been.”

Though her heart was racing, Marinette reveled in the tenderness of the moment and sighed against him.

“I was so scared you would be disappointed in who I really was. I waited for you, you know. Every night.” A confession more embarrassing now that she said it aloud. 

He regarded her with a gaze of understanding tinged with regret. It evoked conflicting feelings within her which she had little inclination to arbitrate.

“I know. I often found you asleep on your balcony.”

Mirth found its way into his gaze, and her eyelids dropped.

“I even—nevermind.”

“What?” She shifted away, covering her face with her hands.

“No, it’s so ridiculous.”

“Tell me.”

It was blatant mischief now, woven into the tones of his voice as he leaned towards her on extended arms, fists pressing into the couch. 

“I’d wear Ladybug merchandise to clue you in. Like it might be a red and black polka-dot skirt or a plain red outfit that drew attention to my earrings, stuff like that. To kind of ease you into knowing.”

She reflected his movements; as he crept forward, she tilted back. Until she practically fell into the crack between cushions and her back hit the leather, eyes blinking up at the white ceiling, startled. 

He appeared over her in a flash, body heat radiating into her and causing her to blush at the proximity. 

“I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to fight for us. We” —he trailed off, eyes darting down to her lips before sharpening and flicking back up to her eyes— “are a couple of idiots.”

It suddenly struck her that Ladybug and Chat Noir had finally been revealed and resolved, and the event had concluded with her lying on a couch, practically straddled by latter hero. 

It was preposterous. Ludicrous. She had a total of zero words to contribute. 

“Marinette?”

She hummed in reply, not listening, mind preoccupied.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Hm.”

“If you don’t stop me, I’m going to.” His voice had deepened, and the hushed tones were brushed against her ear.

Her brain abruptly decided to work again and processed the last few moments of discourse.

_“Wait you’re wha—”_

“Plagg, claws in.”

Pure green light flashed above her, stripping him of his ears and leaving devilishly disheveled hair and piercing emerald eyes hovering mere inches above her.

She worked her throat and opened her lips, but only her breath escaped, apparently having gone dumb at his advance.

His eyes flicked to her lips, and then he swooped down, capturing them in his own. His body pressed into her, and shivers ran down Marinette’s spine so forcefully she trembled slightly beneath him. His kiss was bruising, mouth devouring hers, and she hazedly registered that her hands were in his hair, tangled in the messy strands, pulling him closer insistently. 

She should probably be chastened by her eagerness, they should probably take it slow; _zut,_ what was she even doing?

Breathing became easier when she felt him pull back, though she wasn’t entirely satisfied with the motion.

Adrien was smiling down at her, happiness pulsing from him and seeping into her. She felt herself grin in return before laughter bubbled out of her lips.

Life certainly was strange in the Agreste Tower these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I...don't know what happened, but I am hugely unsatisfied with how this chapter turned out. If you didn't like it; I'm with you. 
> 
> Next chapter is a fun one and our last, and not an epilogue; it's a legit part of the story.
> 
> I am always on the look-out for more beta readers because GalaxyWanderer proved to be SUCH an incredible help. And as Clone Wars once said, “when one is good, two is better, and three? That’s just good business!” My contact information is on my profile page if you’re interested. 
> 
> Thank you, readers; it's been such a pleasure having you along for this piece! See you in a couple days! : )


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, GalaxyWanderer for seeing this story through. I appreciate you so much.
> 
> I'll leave my notes at the end this time. ; )
> 
> Happy reading!

“You should try transforming again.”

Marinette looked up from her sketchbook where she was refining a Chat Noir tuxedo to blink at Adrien’s back in surprise. At her silence, the young man peered at her over his shoulder before returning to his task of washing the dishes. 

“I think you would enjoy it.”

It had been mere hours since their _resolution_ as Adrien referred to it, and minutes since the dinner they had shared at her apartment. 

Marinette put her pencil back to paper and mumbled, “I tried the other night, and enjoyment was not my takeaway.”

His response was a thoughtful hum, and she smiled contentedly, glad to drop the topic. 

They hadn’t breached the subject of their relationship over dinner, but that conversation was bound to happen soon. Marinette didn’t really know how she felt about that. Most of the discussion had focused on their kwamis; she had been ecstatic to see Plagg again, and Adrien was similarly enchanted by Tikki, but nothing could match the excitement of the two kwamis being reunited at long last.

Plagg, perpetually cranky and taciturn Plagg, had zoomed happy circles around his equal, yapping a mile a minute while Tikki practically glowed with joy and giggled uncontrollably.

In fact, Marinette considered as she erased the waistline, the two gods hadn’t separated since, and from their perch on a bookcase opposite the table, the few inches of air between them fizzed and popped with sparks of…electricity? 

“How bad was it?”

“Pardon?” Her head rose to Adrien again, jostled out of her reverie. 

“When you tried transforming. You implied it was unpleasant.”

Huffing out a breath between her lips and bidding adieu to the hope he had forgotten, she forcefully rotated her sketchbook upside-down in an attempt to make her lines straighter. She was reluctant to relive the frustrating and slightly embarrassing memory. Ladybug felt like such a distant part of her past, and Marinette was slightly intimidated by her former self. It wasn’t effortless like it used to be, and she was scared to fail in front of Adrien. Why? She didn’t have a reason she could put into words.

“It felt odd, like I hadn’t fully transformed. I dropped it after only a few seconds.” She slid the sketchbook across the table, irritated with her lack of progress and out of sorts. “I almost threw up.”

But as much as she wanted to put the idea of being Ladybug down and never pick it up again, she did want to try. It was terrifying, yes. But… 

“Every time I saw you as Chat, I wanted to transform. The mask brought back memories, and I was excited at the prospect of leaping across the skyline of Paris with you again. But” —she chewed on her bottom lip— “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” the blond deadpanned, tone incredulous as if she had just confessed she didn’t know how to bake. “You just need practice. And it’ll be a pawsome experience with the one and only Chat Noir to guide you.”

He struck a pose that was clearly intended to impress, but with soap suds running down his wrists and dripping to the floor, it had all the effect of a wet kitten; slightly pathetic and incredibly adorable.

Her mood lightened despite herself, and she found herself shaking her head at the overgrown cat and rising from her seat.

“Fine. But let’s get this over with before I change my mind.”

His face told her he was not expecting a response of that nature, but he scrambled to rinse his hands and grab a towel.

“There are a lot of windows here, do you—”

“My bedroom.” 

He nodded curtly and proceeded to lead her into said room and pull the drapes closed. Taking her hands in his, he squeezed gently, comfortingly, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Her heart fluttered at how naturally he did it.

“Just close your eyes, and take a deep breath. I’m right here. I’ll help you through this.”

Her heart was racing like she had just fought an akuma, and she blushed in embarrassment at how much her palms were sweating. 

“Calm down, Mari,” he chuckled, chest contracting with suppressed laughter. “Relax.”

She glared up at him, and he laughed outright.

“That is not helpful.”

He relented, dropping her hands and stepping back. 

“Okay, call your kwami—Tikki, right—to transform. Keep your eyes closed; we’re going to try to isolate your senses to better manage the enhancements. Okay?”

She nodded.

Palms smoothed down her upper arms.

“You don’t have to do this right now; we have forever to learn together.”

She did not dwell on the words, knowing she would get cold feet if she waited any longer.

“Tikki, spots on!”

Light flashed behind her eyelids, and then everything was chaos. Her ears vibrated uncomfortably with thousands of sounds, each undistinguished from the others. She tried to pick one to focus on and caught tires against pavement from the streets below. It was a steady sound, fading rhythmically as the vehicle gained distance before squealing into something high-pitched and almost painful. 

Ladybug took a deep breath through her nose in a desperate attempt to steady herself, but the strength of a myriad of smells assaulted her, and she collapsed to the floor, palms pressed against her ears. 

Arms were around her instantly, tugging her into a sphere of warmth and rocking her slowly back and forth. She whimpered and slid her hands away to blindly reach for him.

“Mari? Mari! Mari, can you hear me?”

The voice came to her in layers, each shaper than the last. It was incredible how quickly her mind latched onto the tones of his timbre, and she clung to his neck like a lifeline.

“Yes, I, I,” she gasped against his neck, frantically fighting down the waves of panic crashing over her. “I can hear you. I can hear everything and nothing, but I can hear you.”

He seemed to hesitate, and within her crazed head she was able to identify the distinct thought that perhaps his sense enhancements were different than hers, followed by: why didn’t they think of that first?

“Okay. So just concentrate on my voice then. Don’t reach out to anything else. Just concentrate.”

She nodded, eyes still squeezed shut.

“What else? Just sounds? Walk me through it, Mari. What’s going on?”

“It’s just…so loud, and nothing…it’s not separate. I heard a car at first, but then the sound changed. I think it was the water in the pipes? Now everything’s blending together.”

He hissed a word she couldn’t make out.

“You’re probably attuned to sound vibrations differently than I am. Everything was too high to process at first, but sight was worse. Colors were too sharp, too clear for me.” His shoulder stretched as if he was reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “But you can distinguish my voice, right?”

“Yes. It’s, Adrien, I think it’s…”

“What? It’s what?”

A smile pulled her lips apart as she leaned back in his lap. 

“It’s duller now. I think I’m adjusting.”

“That’s great! You’re doing such a good job,” he praised. “Let’s stop for now and re-assess.”

As exciting as the progress was, she was becoming aware of her teeth chattering, and she knew it was wise to quit before she made herself pass out or something else that would scare Adrien as much as herself.

“Tikki, spots off.” 

The words had to be ground out; she had underestimated the amount of concentration it would take to form the command. 

After the light faded, she finally opened her eyes and found an exhausted looking Tikki in her cupped palms.

“Are you alright, Tikki?”

“Oh, sure,” Tikki wheezed. The sound was darling. “Just really out of shape. I’ll be…fine after some cookies.”

Marinette watched with a rueful smile as her kwami phased through the wooden door no doubt heading for the kitchen’s cookie jar which was kept meticulously full at all times. A loud clatter muffled by the door reached her ears followed by a string of unintelligible sounds that came from an unmistakably worried Plagg. She shook her head, imagining Plagg trying to take the lid off of the jar for Tikki only to drop it accidentally. 

Marinette blinked up at Adrien who was now standing near her, awkwardly trying to act comfortable in a room he obviously had reservations about. And while Marinette was grateful for his respect for her, her bed was soft and comfy and calling her name, and he was going to have to be broken into it eventually if things between them progressed the way she wanted them to.

So she stood on shaky knees, assisted by the hand that reached out to help her in an action that was entirely the gentleman she remembered from lycée, and moved to sink down onto the plush mattress of her bed, patting the space beside her. 

Adrien reluctantly approached, sitting beside her while she silently evaluated her physical and mental state. 

She decided she wasn’t hurt, and her mind was clear, but something like soreness dripped from her bones.

“Was it this hard for you?”

“Not exactly. Even after I found out who you were, I still transformed. I rented an old warehouse and set up an obstacle course so I could still train without the threat of cameras. Because of that, my senses came gradually, and the adjustments were miniscule. You’re having to do all of them at once.” His eyes shone as he smiled at her. “I’m so proud of you, you know. I know I’ll never understand the level of difficulty this is, and I probably couldn’t handle it, but you’re still willing to try. This is why you’re Ladybug, and I’m just the sidekick.”

She gasped incredulously, “Not so!”

“It is. I admire you so much, Ladybug.”

She hadn’t been called by the title in so long it felt almost foreign. And yet, there was a warmth that wrapped around her heart at the sound of it. It had been too long.

When Hawk Moth ceased to be a threat, she had laid Ladybug aside. Tikki had agreed, and all things considered, she hadn’t struggled with the consequences of her choice as much as she had anticipated. Still, she couldn’t deny the empowerment the suit used to give her. It wasn’t the same as Chat’s; Adrien was able to use the suit to express his true self. Marinette had never had the same inhibitions; she took the title of hero as an added responsibility. 

But eventually she had fallen in love with it all. Saving people, fighting evil, making a difference, being part of a team—it all became an integral part of herself. The gratitude of the populace revived her faith in humankind, and the way her classmates idolized her superhero persona did, in fact, make her feel freer somehow. And the thirst for that freedom sparked in her the tenacity Chat so often teased as stubbornness. 

“I want to try again now.”

Adrien’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“What, now? You just did!”

She ignored him, crawling off the bed to the floor in an excited rush.

“Hang on, Mari! This isn’t a good idea; you could get hurt!”

His worry was sweet, and Marinette appreciated it, but her fingertips were tingling and something inside of her was buzzing, and there was something asking to be discovered.

She flung a smirk over her shoulder. 

“This is why I’m Ladybug, remember.”

He groaned at her stubbornness, but she caught the way the edges of his lips tugged up despite his obvious effort to the contrary.

She called for her kwami and asked Tikki if she was ready to go again. Tikki’s eyes widened in astonishment, but she nodded, shoving one last cookie into her mouth before zipping over to her mistress.

This time after entering into her magical state, Marinette put her energy into keeping her heart rate even. It took mere seconds for her ears to adjust, and eventually she was able to target specific sounds at will. Her hearing was much stronger, and though it wasn’t giving her a headache this time around, she was far from accustomed to the feeling.

She trepidatiously cracked an eye open, sighing in relief upon finding little difference in her sense of sight. If anything, colors were duller, replaced by an emphasis on light and darkness, but it was slight and easily the most effortless aspect of her endeavors.

Adrien was grinning broadly at her, stepping back to sit on her vanity stool just within arms reach should she need him.

Then that feeling rose from her stomach to hover in her chest again. She chased it with her mind, reaching out with something unfamiliar and yet more natural than breathing. It slipped out of her mental grasp, and she frowned in annoyance, closing her eyes again to seek it. 

Her eyes flew open.

“Adrien?”

Her voice was laced in fear, and he was in front of her immediately. Something was happening inside of her, and she could neither identify nor control it.

“Adrien, Adrien, help me!”

His face was wrought with worry, and she was grasping at his forearms, subconsciously trying to crawl out of her own skin.

“What’s happening, Bug? Talk to me!”

“I” —her breath caught violently in her chest as she failed to swallow down her panic— “I can’t detransform, I can’t release the…oh mon—”

 _“Pas de panique!_ I am right here, Buginette.” They stared at each other for a moment, Marinette fighting panicked tears trying to make an entrance while Adrien held her, uncertain. “Are you in pain?”

She considered the question before shaking her head. 

“No, but my spine feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.”

“And that _doesn’t_ hurt?”

Her head shook again, wildly hunting words to adequately translate what she felt, but before she had the chance, shivers wracked through her lithe form. She broke from Adrien’s hold, reflexively curling in on herself. 

It was over in less than three seconds, and Marinette raised her head to find Adrien staring, wide-eyed, awe sweeping over his features.

“A—Adrien, what, what is it?”

“Mari…look down.”

She skeptically pulled her focus from his handsome face to stare at the carpet. Or more importantly, to stare at her feet _which were not touching the carpet!_

“I don’t…how…”

“Marinette, I am beyond excited to announce that your Miraculous powers are fully matured. And they are breathtaking, _mon ciel étoilé.”_

She turned to her left, hoping against hope the full-length mirror across the room wouldn’t reveal some sort of freak. 

Wings. 

She had _wings._

Delicate, iridescent wings emerged from between her shoulder blades and beat rhythmically behind her, keeping her elevated several inches above the ground. They shimmered as they caught the light, and Marinette gasped despite herself. She couldn’t stop staring, willing her wings to take her closer to the mirror, and _they did._

After minutes of examining the pale growth, she felt a tug on her wrist. 

“Hey, Ladybug. It’s good to see you in your spots again.”

She didn’t know when or how she had missed Chat’s transformation, but he stood beside her, green irises shining in unadulterated joy. 

_“Mon chaton,”_ she whispered, overcome at the waves of nostalgia crashing over her.

She threw herself at him, arms around his neck while his encircled her waist.

“Care to see Paris with me again?”

The darkness enveloped the pair as they stepped out onto her balcony. 

“What if I fall?” she whispered, anticipation curling her toes as she cherished the stone beneath her feet, solid and sure. 

“I’ll drop with you. I’m heavier, so I’ll land first. I’ll catch you.”

She eyed him doubtfully.

“Hey, a cat always lands on its feet.”

She blinked.

He seized her hands and playfully led her toward the railing. 

“Trust your sidekick, Ladybug.”

His smile held the stars, and her heart lost its fear.

 _“Allons-y,_ then. Lead the way.”

He leapt out into the night, and she felt her feet leave the ground, vision sharpening to define light and dark.

She comfortably adjusted, listening for her partner before realizing her mistake; a cat was noiseless. But his green eyes stuck out like a beacon, and she was landing beside him on a neighboring rooftop before she had time to command her wings to move.

“You’re fast.”

“So are you,” she huffed, uneasy at the thought of losing him. “How did you get up here so quickly?”

His teeth flashed, and she could discern his effort to restrain a cocky remark. She was impressed with his self-control as he merely replied, “I can scale walls now.”

She raised an eyebrow, and then they were off again, from building to building.

Her wings felt like freedom, and while her faithful yo-yo still clung to her hip, Ladybug loved having both hands free. The city was as beautiful as she remembered, but the wind blowing through her loose hair was pure heaven.

And she knew now what he meant when he recounted his side of the reveal. She could feel a force, faint but insistent, like the pull of a magnet, leading her in his direction. It was as real and alive as her heartbeat, and she smiled at his back, assurance dawning on her that no matter what happened they would always find their way back to each other. Fate had seen to that. 

They ended up at the top of Notre Dame, gazing down through the stone parapets at the city of lights.

Ladybug sighed and rested her head on Chat’s shoulder. 

_“Merci,_ Chat. My transformation… I don’t think I could have made it through that on my own. Thank you for being there for me.”

“I will be there for you as long as you’ll let me, Ladybug.”

A soft _“merci”_ was all she could manage, his loyalty causing her throat to constrict. 

“And Ladybug?” His smooth timbre shook with emotion. “If I could choose, I would never leave your side. I want to be with you so much it scares me.”

Shocked, she gaped up at him, mouth opening and closing as she grappled with words.

“What are you saying exactly? You’re starting to talk in the permanent.”

He de-transformed before her eyes, cupping her face in his hands and taking a deep breath.

 _“Je t’aime, Marinette._ And I want to share a life with you if you’ll have me.”

“Tikki, spots off.” She searched his eyes, trying to detect any trace of mischief or hesitance. Upon finding none, tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. “I, I love you too, Adrien.” 

* * *

“You’re such a workaholic, you know that?”

Adrien’s lighthearted rebuke was met by silence, Marinette ignoring him in favor of stretching a bolt of cloth over the dining room table where she was set up for the day as neither she nor Adrien were expected at work. She bit her lip in concentration before offering an absentminded response. 

“You love me for it.”

“Despite it. I love you _despite_ it. You spend so much time working.” He crossed the room and draped his arms over her shoulders from behind watching her slide her tape measure smoothly over the fabric and dot an outline. “I’m starting to feel _ruled_ out.”

He expected her to slam her head on the table and tell him to get out, go bother Plagg. He expected her to groan and shove him off.

He…didn’t expect her to turn around in his arms and begin working the hem of his shirt upwards, a smirk lifting one side of her mouth.

“Mari? What, what are you doing?”

She had certainly grown bolder since that fateful meeting in the elevator, but the fact that they were married now may contribute something to the change. It had been eight months since Ladybug’s first flight and two days since their wedding. Tomorrow they would begin their honeymoon, and Marinette didn’t seem to be in a waiting mood.

Not that he was complaining.

“I’m always working on things, making them look different, matching up different hues and such. Why don’t you work on me for a change?” 

Her smirk redefined sensual, and his mouth dropped open, not expecting this side of her to come out so strongly.

She dropped a kiss to his collarbone.

“Make me a different hue.”

Her shirt was gone no more than two seconds after his.

“Kwami, _yes,_ ” he breathed between her lips. “Finally you pay attention to me.”

The young woman laughed.

“So I guess I’m not as much of a workaholic as you thought.”

“Not at all,” was the reply as he picked her up and headed toward the bedroom. “Now I know puns affect you _way_ more than you let on. Admit it, my charm is pawsitively agresteing.”

Marinette groaned, but whether it was in response to his words or his insistent sucking on her neck he couldn’t tell.

“I’ve created a monster.”

“Cat's out of the bag.”

“Stooppp,” she whined.

“Make me.”

The flash of teeth through a smile was the last thing that could be seen from the living room as the door was closed behind the lovers, and Marinette proceeded to take Adrien up on his challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobs theatrically* It's over!!!
> 
> Okay, but seriously. This story taught me a lot. It taught me some things that I will never do again, it taught me some things I will do again (thank you, commenters), and, like most stories, it made me cringe going back through some of this. I choose to take that as a sign I'm improving as a writer. Don't tell me it's wishful thinking (I'm already aware). :P
> 
> Thanks to all the lovely people who read this story; y'all are awesome.
> 
> One more thing; did the italics feel comfortable? I'm not talking about the amount (although feel free to bring that up, I know I over-italicize; I'm working on it), I'd like to know if the punctuation enclosing the italicized word being in italics disrupted the reading flow. You may notice I wasn't consistent with the punctuation, but I'm curious.  
>  _"Thank you_ for reading; it means a lot."  
> or  
> " _Thank you_ for reading; it means a lot." ???
> 
> Let me know!
> 
> Guys, it's been a blast. Thanks again to Galaxy for being a fabulous beta. I'll see you next time! 
> 
> Happy reading!


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